


Legend Of The Ape Man

by virtualpersonal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Tarzan Fusion, Angst, Fantasy, Humor, Jane!dean, M/M, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Schmoop, Sexy Times, Slight consent issues, bodice ripper, fairytale, sam and dean are not brothers, tarzan au, tarzan!sam, trouser ripper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-06 17:25:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 60,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3142601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virtualpersonal/pseuds/virtualpersonal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Forced to take a trip with his father, Dean Winchester leaves behind his world of books and studies. Little does he know that a love, unlike any he’s ever imagined, awaits him in the depths of the untamed West African jungles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Co-written with Lady Fetish
> 
> Inspired by the movie "Tarzan The Ape Man." 
> 
> [Tarzan's yell sound clip here](http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/9/97/John_Weissmuller%27s_MGM_Tarzan_Yell.ogg)

For the first time in weeks, Dean was on solid ground instead of on the swaying ship. After hugging the West African coast for hours, the ship had finally made port. Now sitting on a crate on the edge of the wharf and watching as the expedition party's gear was being unloaded, Dean started to realize this was real. He was half way around the world, in Africa. On a great hunt. With experienced hunters who'd been to this continent on safari hundreds of times. Hunters who walked around with rifles on their backs, chewed tobacco, and cursed like sailors. Who didn't give a damn about book learning or those with interests that had nothing to do with the bringing back of trophies. It really put quite a damper on his excitement at being here.

The rude insults that Bill Harvelle hurled at the porters loading the wagons had Dean wincing and pulling his gaze away in embarrassment. He pulled his glasses off and rubbed his eyes before replacing them again. A part of him wanted to go and tell the man to tone it down but it was so damned hot and humid he didn't feel like expending the energy to do so when it wouldn't any good anyway. Harvelle was wealthy as hell and acted as if he owned everyone back home, in the states. Why should it be any different here, in Africa?

Closing the journal in his hand, Dean turned to look behind him, towards the town. It was a mistake. His father was there, with Jo Harvelle, both of them waving him over. They each had drinks in their hands, which was inviting, but he'd just spent months trying to find a place where the others couldn't so obviously push him on Jo. Jo was alright, but that didn't mean he wanted to court and marry her. Now he had a sneaking suspicion that was exactly what his father wanted, and it was the reason he'd been ordered to join the hunters on this trip. 

Pretending not to hear his father, Dean got up and joined a small cluster of men, including Tumba, who'd been introduced earlier as their guide. The men were standing around a large barrel and using a large ladle to pour water into coconut shells. He didn't understand their language and was about to try to gesture to be understood when Tumba spoke.

"Water?"

"Yes. Please," Dean said, reaching for the water filled coconut shell offered to him. "It's very warm, isn't it?"

"Less hot with less clothes," Tumba said, his gaze pointedly traveling up and down Dean's layers of beige safari clothing, including a tightly knotted tie at his throat.

Water spewed from Dean's mouth. He'd been trying to ignore the distinct lack of clothing or rather scarcity of clothing worn by not only the natives, but the people on the expedition. As the weather had grown warmer, even when they were still aboard the ship, many of the men had started to roll up their sleeves, some of them stripping their shirts off completely. Jo had changed out of her dresses into tight fitting pants, and now her sleeves were rolled up and the top buttons of her shirt were undone. 

"You have a point. I guess," he said a little stiffly, not making a move to peel off any of his own clothes.

As Tumba translated to the others, there was some laughter. Dean made an effort to smile even though the joke was at his expense. 

"Thank you for the water. Can I help?" He nodded toward the luggage and supplies.

Feeling the weight of Tumba's scrutiny, Dean added earnestly, "I really would like to help."

Tumba relented and pointed. "You help the boys load that wagon. You drop it, you pay for it, as your Mr. Harvelle would say."

"He's not _my_ anything," Dean muttered, tossing the coconut shell into the collection bucket and heading out to the wagon. 

As he helped with the loading, he quickly figured out which of the natives spoke some English and started pumping them for information about this great big white ape that Bill Harvelle was after. He assumed it was an albino but was disappointed to hear that none of the men had actually seen the ape. Dean wondered if it might just be some rumor. Perhaps they were chasing after a non-existent beast. 

* * *

[Three days later]

 

The trek through the jungle was both fascinating and terrible. The fauna and flora were so breathtaking that Dean wished he could sit and draw them all into his journal. Yet every step they took could be deadly. Their guides helped by pointing out the dangers and knowing how to deal with them, but they couldn't be everywhere at once. The deeper they got into the jungles, the slower they were forced to go. Some places, the plant life was so thick, they had to rely on machetes to cut it down and open a trail for the expedition of about twenty people; including five Americans, a Russian, a couple of Germans and two Brits, all hand-picked by Harvelle for their experience in hunting in the interiors of the African jungles.

The line of people halted, joining the small group who had gone ahead and had already started setting up camp for them since it would get dark soon. Dean was tired, but it was mostly exhaustion from the heat. Once night fell and it cooled off some more he knew he'd feel a lot better. 

Bill Harvelle grinned as he walked over to Dean with his daughter, Jo hot on his heels. "It shouldn't be long before we see a creature that you're definitely going to want to write about, Dean," he announced as he stepped up to Dean's side. 

Jo hurried around her father and over to Dean, wrapping an arm around his waist and laying her head softly on his shoulder as she looked proudly over at her father, a smile splitting her face. "Dean is going to be a great writer one day, aren't you Dean?" She gushed. "He'll write about much bigger things than your stupid old white ape, father." 

"Stupid?" Bill demanded. "I'll have you know, this ape will be a great find. He'll make me millions," he declared.

Millions. As if he needed more. Dean's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a loud [call](http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/9/97/John_Weissmuller%27s_MGM_Tarzan_Yell.ogg) from deep in the jungle. It seemed to come from everywhere at once, vibrating around them as if whatever was making the sound was moving quickly high up through the trees. 

Dean saw some of the native guides and porters exchanging looks but when they noticed him watching them they seemed to suddenly appear nervous and fearful. He wondered if they knew what was going on. Before he could go to ask, Harvelle spoke again.

"There, that's my great white ape now," Bill declared. 

Jo stepped slightly closer to Dean and tightened her grip on him, her eyes widening. 

"He's a hundred feet tall," John Winchester tossed out stepping up to the three of them and passing Bill a flask of whiskey. 

"A hundred feet my ass, he is at least _five_ hundred feet tall!" Bill retorted, opening then tipping the flask to his lips. 

Dean stiffened, though he didn't pull away from Jo. Mostly, he felt uncomfortable because no matter what he said or how he acted, the three of them, Jo and both their parents, acted as if it was a done deal, that they were a couple engaged to be married. Still, he wasn't going to be rude. 

"That doesn't sound like a monkey," he said finally, not having any idea what that call was, but then there were a lot of calls and roars and sounds in the jungle, so many that he couldn't identify. "And no one seems to have seen this white ape. If it were five hundred feet tall, he'd be hard to miss." 

"Don't give him lip," John Winchester said, giving Dean a dark look. "I should have never listened to your mama. Letting you get all that schooling," he shook his head. "It's made you quite humorless."

They always did that, toss his schooling into his face. Dean didn't answer his father but instead looked down at Jo.

"Don't worry. Nothing's going to happen. Nothing is going to get through all these people," he said, patting her arm and then trying to move slightly away. 

"Anyway, that thing that gave that cry sounds a lot friendlier than the lion roaring." His head lifted as he listened to the animal roaring too close to the camp. 

Not at all sure that she was happy that the white ape sounded better than a lion, Jo's brow creased as she listened to Dean. Either way, she most definitely wasn't thrilled she decided, tightening her grasp on Dean's arm to keep him from slipping away. 

"That lion won't eat much once it's got a bullet in its brain," Harvelle assured his daughter with a snort.

"Mister Harvelle, the men are frightened. They've changed their minds and wish to leave," Tumba said as he stepped over and jutted his chin toward some of the porters who were clustered together and fearfully staring off into the jungle or whispering among themselves. 

"Offer them more money, they'll stay for more money," Bill replied. "That lot will sell their souls for gold."

Tumba gave a heavy sigh and shook his head at the man's audacity and lack of respect. His gaze slid briefly to Dean before returning to Harvelle. "I will tell them," he answered with a curt nod before turning and walking away.

Wishing he could follow Tumba, Dean felt stuck. Literally and figuratively. "Jo, it'll be fine. Why don't you sit down?" he said, leading her to one of the low chairs that had been set out near the fire, where their guides were preparing a spit to cook their dinner. Though the heat from the fire might be uncomfortable, it would provide light when darkness blanketed them in a short while. Gently prying her hand off his arm, he urged her again to sit. 

Seeing the way she looked at him, he knew he couldn't just walk away, not without her following him. Giving a sigh, he pulled another chair over. "I guess you've changed your mind now? Not so happy to be exploring with your dad?" he asked. Thinking about his own feelings, he concluded he wasn't completely sorry about having come along, but he truly wished he could do some real exploring, maybe with Tumba and the two other guides. Listening to hunters boasting or standing around while others did all the work, that wasn't Dean's idea of fun.

Jo shook her head and offered Dean and affectionate smile, "No, I could never regret coming if it means spending time alone with you," she murmured. 

This time, he managed to clamp down on his sigh. Resting his elbow on his knee, he stared out into the dark jungle. Okay, she was beautiful. She was smart and funny. And she liked him, and even the fact that he sometimes had his head in the clouds or nose in a book. So why, why couldn't he feel anything for her? It would make things so easy. So damned easy.

For a heartbeat, he contemplated a future with her, but then reality set in. Who was he kidding? He knew why he didn't feel anything but friendship for her. Why he'd never be interested in her in _that_ way. He'd never make his parents happy, never marry, and never bring them a child. He might not be able to voice it, to give his reasons, but it was the simple truth. 

"I don't know why anyone in their right mind would come all the way out here to do that." He turned to her. "You know there are a lot of men, better men, who want your hand." She was always surrounded by besotted men at the balls her parents gave. 

Jo shook her head. "There's no one better than you," she corrected softly. "No one that I want more than you," she confessed. "I like that you aren't a hunter like my father and that you rely on brains, not brawn. Mostly, that you don't hang onto his every word." 

For one crazy moment, Dean wondered if he could tell her his secret. But he snapped out of it, knowing he couldn't risk losing his family and being ostracized. "You know, I'm not exactly available." He got up and walked closer to the fire, tugging on his tie, loosening it just a little. "I get lost in my books. In my studies. For hours at a time. Sometimes days. I don't like parties, dancing and..." he waved his hand, "social events. Everything you need in a husband, as a Harvelle, I'm not suited for."

Jo sighed heavily and shook her head. "I'm tired of all that, all I want is a man by my side when I get old, a babe in my arms and someone who won't be traipsing off to Africa or some other God forsaken continent to find the next big thing," she retorted before her lips curved into a smile. "All of this, you can more than give to me," she said decisively. "Oh, I know we would suit just fine."

Dean's groan of frustration was drowned out by that same call again. 

"AAAHHHH eeee ahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaa ahahaaaaaaaaaaaa."

He turned his head in the direction of the sounds, eventually, he had to turn his entire body to follow it. Whatever _it_ was, it was streaking across the jungle, fast.

The sound of heavy boots and the smell of tobacco made Dean aware Harvelle and his dad had joined them. His dad had binoculars out and was peering into them. Dean had to admit, despite his earlier claim that lions sounded fiercer, his heart was pumping just a little faster. "See anything?"

"Nothing. It's too damned dark," John answered. 

Jo reached for her father's arm, "Daddy?" 

Just as Bill reassured his daughter and started to boast about his shooting skills, 'Cook' came over and said their dinner was ready. While some of the others stayed where they were, waiting to be served, Dean grabbed a plate and moved over to the other fire pit; where the main cooking was being done. He held the plate out while one of the men gave him a cut of meat, then he went and helped himself to a minimum of greens. 

Course when he got back to the make shift table that had been set up, the group had left him a place to sit right next to Jo. For the thousandth time, he wished he'd seen through his father's plans before he'd boarded ship. He'd have done anything to avoid all this awkwardness. Anything.  
* * *

The open tent had netting over it, to stop the mosquitoes from getting to them. Dean lay on his stomach, reading by the light of an oil lamp and grunting out answers to Jo's questions as needed. Back home in the states, there was no way their parents would have put them in the same tent or room, but out here, for some reason, all the rules went out the window.   
Dean carefully kept his eyes glued to the page, and away from her. This whole business was unseemly, with him laying so close to her and knowing she was in her nightshirt. 

When he felt her foot knock against his, like she was trying to get his attention, he almost swallowed his tongue. Pushing his glasses back up his nose, he sat up, then crawled out of the tent. "Have to... uh... have business to attend to," he whispered.

He picked his way around some of the sleeping members of the expedition, many of which had not opted for tents. Reaching the perimeter of the camp, he nodded at Afi, one of the guys keeping watch, then headed out of the clearing and into the jungle. 

It was loud in the jungle. Sometimes you could barely think past the sound of the insects buzzing. Things slithered past, leaves moved. Monkeys seemed to laugh at you, but in the dark, it was impossible to see them. Dean knew he ought to be afraid, but in truth, he was more afraid of people than of nature. Out here, alone, he didn't have to hide or pretend. There was no risk of being found out and rejected.

*

The great white ape stood in the brush, hiding among the tall grasses and lush leaves, as he watched one of the men leave the circle of the others. He was interesting, this lone man with the odd things placed near his eyes, shiny things that had sides which curled around his ears. The man had captured his attention earlier when he had watched the group travel through what he considered his part of the jungle. His head tilted to one side as he eyed the strange man, eyes narrowing with curiosity. 

Dean heard a sound, among all the other sounds of the jungle. He took a few steps, his gaze skimming the thick foliage. It was pitch black in some places, even though the moon was quite full and high. Just as he was about to turn back, the dark wall of shadows seemed to split. For a second, the part of the shadow that peeled away appeared to have the form of a man, a tall muscular man, and then the shadows merged again and the man was gone.

Blinking, Dean adjusted his spectacles and stared into the jungle. Were they being watched? Tumba had warned them that they were entering areas of the jungle that in recent years was frequented by a tribe that was distinctly dangerous to strangers and that they would all need to be vigilant and on guard. It was probably foolish, but Dean stayed there for quite a while, waiting to see if the shadow would appear again. 

By the time Dean returned to camp, he had convinced himself it had been a flight of fancy. Like watching the clouds and finding shapes in them, his mind had organized the shadows into the shape of a man. And yet, inside his tent, he sketched the shadow he'd seen before closing his journal and blowing out the oil lamp.

* * * 

It was so damned hot and sticky, Dean had to wonder how everyone else was dealing with it so much better. The hunters and the guides and porters were used to the climate and even Jo apparently went on safaris with her father now and again. Course everyone else had stripped down while he was still covered up from neck to toe. If he lost some of his clothes, would it really be so bad?

His foot slipped on the wet mud and he started to slide down the side of the incline. A low shout broke from him as he scrambled, trying to find a foothold to prevent himself from falling into the deep gully. Nothing he did helped. At most, he was slowing his descent but he was sure he would start tumbling once he got to the steeper areas below. 

Desperately, he searched for a stone or boulder or something that could anchor him. Something thick and heavy thudded next to him, splattering the mud. Just in time, he grabbed at the vine, hoping it was strong enough to bear his weight. His body slipped off the edge of the incline and suddenly, he was swinging over the deep part of the gully. His heart raced, but he was fine. 

Looking up, Dean didn't see his father or any of the others. He'd thought one of them had thrown the vine down but now he knew it had to have fallen off a branch or something. Or, if he allowed himself a flight of fancy, he could think it was divine intervention or some monkey up there taking pity on the idiot who'd gotten separated from his party.

It was his own fault, really. Up at the beginning of the line, Tumba and some of the others were helping people navigate their way through the difficult muddy slopes. Dean had fallen behind just so he wouldn't have to keep socializing, or hearing Harvelle boast about his hunting successes and yell at the hired hands like they were nothing just because they'd accepted his gold. 

Reaching up to start climbing the vine, Dean felt something fall out of his pocket and looked down, shouting, "Noooo!" when he saw it was his precious journal. He stared down into the gully for a long while, tempted to go down after his journal. But what if he wasn't able to climb back out? What if he fell too far behind? If the vine had been longer, if it had reached all the way down, he might have attempted it. The journal had all his writings from the time they'd boarded ship in New York until now.

Hearing his named called out and noting the impatience in his father's voice, Dean decided to let it go, but his heart was heavy. None of them would understand his distress. His father might even tell him he was better off without the damned book. Holding back a sigh, he reached up, pulling his weight up the length of the vine, intent on not holding the others back or complaining about losing his journal. This too would pass.

* * *

After they'd made it past to the top of the incline to where the jungle terrain was flatter, they'd eaten a late lunch. Dean wasn't sure how they'd gotten the mules and the wagons up, but everyone was very exhausted and Harvelle had called a long break, even if they were going to waste daylight hours. Many had dropped down, rolled some clothing or a bedroll under their heads and were already asleep. 

Despite his father's warnings that he get his head out of the clouds and not wander away, Dean did just that. Wandered away. It was dangerous, but he liked it out here. Except for the heat, which might not be as oppressive if they weren't constantly exerting themselves to keep on the move. If he were alone, he thought he might enjoy camping out. All he'd need were a few books to keep him company, a couple of journals to fill and some food, then he'd be set. 

As he walked, stepping over thick tree roots, he wiped at some of the mud on his jacket. He was brushing past some branches when he saw something colorful and stopped. Adjusting his glasses, he took a closer look. It was a frog. He wished he could somehow capture its colors, the vibrant orange and yellow that covered its body. It measured perhaps three inches. As he leaned closer, something struck the branch near the frog and the frog jumped off and disappeared. 

Startled, Dean looked around, then up, to see where that pebble had come from. He'd really wanted to take a good look at what he suspected was a venomous frog, perhaps even the sort used to make poisonous darts. Scowling about the missed opportunity, he pushed away from the tree and headed deeper into the jungle.

As he picked his way through the jungle, he thought he heard the sound of rushing water. Thinking he had to be dreaming or that it was wishful thinking, he nevertheless made his way towards the sound, stopping suddenly at the sight of a narrow river cutting a path through the jungle. Looking up at the sky, he laughed, "Thank you!"

A moment later, he was on his knees at the edge of the water, tugging his cravat off and dipping it into the water. It was so beautiful and peaceful here, the water surrounded by thick greenery. He knew the others would love the chance to get washed up, but he was going to be selfish. He didn't want the moment ruined by them.

First, he wiped his face with the wet cloth and his neck, going so far as to undo the button at the base of his throat. Once he'd gotten clean, he dipped the necktie into the water again, raised it above his face and squeezed, letting the cool water drench his face as it drizzled down, cooling him off.

*  
Having tracked the man and the others with him as they'd made an obvious and rather ragtag trail through the jungle, Sam, known by the natives as Tarzan, had become more and more intrigued by this man he had seen standing alone in the darkness. Though he had to admit that the man had nothing on the gazelles or even the chimpanzees when it came to grace or climbing abilities. In fact, more often than not, Sam had had to aid the man before he tumbled to his death or was poisoned by the colorful inhabitants of the jungle. 

Sam followed the light haired man as he moved further and further away from his camp, quickly hiding each time the man turned as though he'd sensed him and was searching for him. Moving further down the river bank, he watched for a while as the man squeezed water over his face. Curious now, moving as quietly as a crocodile, Sam dove deep into the water and began swimming to where the man was naively standing near the bank. 

Sam spared the man a glance from under the water before he pushed up, his head and torso rising swiftly up out of the water. He wrapped an arm around the man and clamped his other hand over the man's mouth to stifle any screams that might bring the others and pulled the man down under the surface of the water. Delving deeper with his chest pressed securely against Dean's back and one arm wrapped tightly around his waist, Sam used his free arm to steer them through the current. 

It happened so quick, Dean didn't even have a chance to shout. He wasn't even sure what had jumped out of the water like a dolphin and dragged him under the water. He'd glimpsed a naked man, and it had felt like a human hand across his mouth, there were no sharp teeth crocodile teeth cutting into his skin, and yet common sense told him it was impossible. Was he in the throes of a jungle fever? Was he seeing things? Maybe he was safe at camp and just dreaming all this.

The burning in his lungs told Dean otherwise. He started to struggle, to try to break free of the maniac trying to drown him. Tried to push him away, to break his hold even as Dean struggled to hold his breath. 

As the man in his arms started to struggle, Sam wrapped his other arm tightly around him, holding him immobile up against his body. He kicked his legs, swimming faster down the river toward a bank that was far enough from the stranger's camp site that the others wouldn't hear the man, should they decide to look for him. Once he reached his goal, Sam swam toward the surface, pulling the man up with him until their heads and shoulders broke the surface of the water. He heard the man draw in a lungful of air just before he put his palm on the man's ass and shoved him up and out of the water, helping him crawl up the muddy embankment. 

Once Dean was completely out of the water, Sam followed him onto the land and crouched; his arms hung limply between his wide spread, bent legs as he regarded Dean in silence.

Rolling to his back, Dean rose up and crab-crawled away, gasping for breath and staring at the near naked man who'd grabbed him. The man had longish hair and an apologetically muscular physique that, to Dean's shame, seemed to come straight out of some of his racier and perhaps sinful dreams. His gaze quickly swept upwards, over the short loin cloth around the man's waist, to his face. He realized now, that the man was bronzed by the sun, that he wasn't a native. 

"Who are you?" Dean demanded, his chest rising and falling heavily as he searched the man's eyes which were as dark green and as mysterious as the jungle that surrounded them. "What... what do you want?" 

Sam didn't answer. Instead, he pulled slowly up to his full height and began to cautiously make his way toward Dean, his eyes intent on the man's, his gaze never wavering. 

The man's stare and silence were disconcerting. Dean scrambled farther away, but his head and shoulders hit a tree trunk. Dropping down onto the ground, he started to push himself up just as the man's shadow fell over him. Dean looked up at the man looming over him, his face mostly expressionless. Straightening his glasses, he fought the urge to dry them, or to wipe at his still dripping face. "I don't have anything worth taking, but you can have my pocket watch." He wondered if he could whip out the knife he had secreted at his back. This man might be strong, but he wouldn't stand a chance against a blade.

Sam frowned in confusion at the man's words and tilted his head slightly to one side before he dropped abruptly down into a crouch again, this time directly next to Dean. With one arm hanging between his wide spread legs, he reached out toward Dean's face with the other, his gaze flickering between the glasses that he didn't understand and the freckles that dotted Dean's nose and across his cheekbones.

Drawing in a sharp breath, Dean flinched away, pressing his back into the tree as far as he could. The stranger was so close, crowding him. "What?" He licked his lips and slowly started to move to the side, trying not to startle the man into action. Maybe the man had fallen prey to jungle fever or had gone mad, or both. "I'm just... just getting some space, alright?" Dean kept his voice low, and soothing. 

Disappointed that Dean flinched away, Sam slowly curled his fingers and began to withdraw his hand only to suddenly snake out his harm and wrap it tightly around Dean's waist. He dragged Dean's body up against his own as he rose to his full height, pulling Dean up with him. He quickly backed away from where they'd been, his eyes intent on the crocodile that had been too close and now moved stealthy through the tall grass to slip soundlessly into the river nearby. 

Lowering back down into a crouch, he released Dean once the danger had passed, placing his wide palm flat against Dean's chest as if to steady him now that he'd recognized the look of terror in the man's eyes. Slowly, tentatively Sam backed up, his hand still held out in front of him, ready to push Dean back if given provocation. 

Dean wasn't sure what scared him more. This strange man. The feelings that jolted through him when he'd been chest to chest with him. Or the life endangering crocodile that might have decided to have him for lunch, if not for the man. He suspected that the source of his fear was not the obvious choice. 

His gaze dropped to the man's hand that the man held up between them. He cocked his head in question, sure he wasn't in immediate danger, but still unsure about what the guy wanted. "Thanks. For... thanks." His voice was a low whisper.

Clearing his throat, he crawled back just a little. "I'd love to say it was fun meeting you and that we should do this again, but... yeah, let's not." He crawled back a little more, hoping there would be no confrontation and that he could get up to his feet and run.

Sam watched the man, his eyes intent on every movement that he made, uncertain of what it was that he was saying but extremely aware of each breath, each rise and fall of the man's chest and each flicker of motion. He remained as still as a boulder until Dean backed away farther than he felt was safe. Then, he immediately lunged forward, grasping Dean's wrist, pulling him back and into his arms which wrapped around Dean securely. He held onto him, his chest against Dean's, eyes boring heatedly down into the man's.   
"What the..." The protest died on Dean's lips as he suddenly realized the full extent of his predicament. 

He was in the arms of a man. A strange, wild man. A man whose state of undress was wreaking havoc with Dean's senses and making it very difficult to think. He could feel every hard plane of the man's body pressed against him, the heat of the man's body seeping right through Dean's wet clothing and leaving nothing to his imagination. Worse yet, his body was reacting in the same way it would when, once in a while, he broke down and allowed himself to look at art and pictures of the sort that could be found only in the seediest places. He only had a few, but somehow, he'd never been able to bring himself to throw them away even though they filled his mind with images that were forbidden. Images just like this.

Dean's stomach tensed. He let out a soft breath. "This is... well it's very irregular. Unseemly," he whispered, reaching for his glasses. They'd gotten fogged up, and it gave him something to do, at least while he thought up an escape plan. 

Sam quickly pulled an arm from around Dean as he watched him reach for the strange things sitting on his face. His other arm tightened its hold around the man, unwilling to let him go, enjoying the feelings that holding this man stirred up within him, feelings he had never felt before. He reached up, plucking the glasses right out of Dean's hand and yanking them back, keeping the man from being able to reach for them. His brow creased as he frowned, a warning deep within the hazel depths of his eyes as he regarded the man with an expression of disgruntlement. Slowly, he tore his attention away from Dean's face and lowered his gaze to the glasses he held in his hand. He turned them this way and that, trying to understand what they were, their purpose. 

"No! Give it back," Dean demanded, squirming and trying to pull away, heat stealing over his face when his groin rubbed against the man's powerful thigh. "Please, I need them," he whispered, instantly holding himself more still. The lack of a response made him wonder whether the man really didn't understand him or whether he was trying to torment him. It was probably both.

He could barely hear above the sound of his heart beating. "Sprechen sie Deutsch? Parlez-vous Français?" he tried. 

Sam looked up at the man and released the glasses, allowing them to tumble into the soft grass. He lifted his hand to Dean's face again, his fingertips grazing the freckles dotting the man's cheek bones. Sam's attention was glued on what he was doing, watching as his fingers traveled over the soft skin before his eyes snapped upward, meeting the man's green gaze instead. 

"Oo, oo," he said in the language of the apes, giving a nod. 

"Ooh what?" Dean swallowed, fighting to keep his eyes open when the man's fingers danced lightly over his face. His gaze dropped to the ground where his glasses glinted in the sunlight and he sent up a silent prayer that the man wouldn't stomp on his spectacles. Slowly, he started to get back up to his feet.   
Sam cocked his head at the lack of a proper response from the man in his arms. Refusing to release him, he stood up at the same time as Dean, standing only inches from him.

This was only slightly better, Dean thought. At least it was a step in the right direction. Or perhaps he'd thought that too soon.

A slight frown marred Sam's brow before he slowly crouched in front of Dean, his arms sliding downward along Dean's body, hands skimming over every inch of skin barely concealed underneath layers of soaking wet material. With his face at crotch level, Sam glanced up at the man before wrapping an arm around Dean's lower back and buttock region. He then pulled up to his full height, effectively tossing Dean up and over one shoulder. Now that he had the man slung safely over his shoulder he didn't have to worry about him getting into trouble. With his arm securely wrapped just under Dean's ass, holding him tightly, Sam began walking away from the riverbank, heading deeper into the jungle.   
At first Dean's breath had caught in his throat because it appeared the man's attention was on his groin, like he'd noticed the state he'd put him in. Just as Dean had been about to apologize or tried to make an excuse, his breath was knocked out of him, this time because he found himself on this... this wild man's shoulder, being carried like a sack of supplies. 

"No. Stop. Hey, put me down. Put me down at once," he started to yell, kicking his legs and feeling both fearful and extremely foolish. " _You._ Stop it, do you hear me?!"

What if he was being taken back to the water? What if he was going to be drowned this time. "I'm warning you," he struggled more fiercely, reaching to the small of his back and searching for the hilt of his dagger. Of course that would have been a great plan, if his hand hadn't found the man's incredibly muscular arm across his thighs, and if his face hadn't brushed against the wild man's smooth ass. His chin and face had dipped under the man's loin cloth and he didn't need his glasses to know what he was seeing. "Um... Right, put me down." All thoughts of knives were forgotten, replaced by feelings and sensations that had Dean's mind spinning.

Sam continued trekking through the jungle, uncertain what the man was chattering on about. He continued into a small clearing near a crystal clear pool that a waterfall dumped into. High up in the trees sat a home of sorts, though he would not take the man there, not now, not yet. Instead he stopped at the base of one of the trees and crouched down, carefully lowering Dean onto the ground, one hand pressing against his chest to still him. 

From within the high brush and waving leafy grasses bounded a small monkey. Sam didn't flinch or even react when the monkey crawled up his thigh, then wrapped its arms around his bicep and made its way onto his shoulder, perching there with its tiny arm wrapped possessively around Sam's neck. Instead, Sam's gaze was focused solely on the man laying before him. 

The strange sight had Dean gaping. He wasn't the only one, it looked like those two, man and monkey, were staring right back at him as if he was the strange one. He turned his head to look at his surroundings. "Whoa..." he whispered, seeing the waterfall and pool. "Beautiful." His gaze slipped to the man, but he pulled it away. Any moment now, he'd wake from this strange dream, and everything would be normal. A ridiculously handsome man wouldn't be kidnapping him and bringing him to a place so beautiful that it rivaled the imagination. 

Sam turned his attention from the man to the monkey on his shoulder and opened his mouth, accepting the small fruit that the monkey offered him before he made a few small gestures which had the monkey bounding down off his shoulder and heading cautiously over to Dean. Sam shifted, lowering himself down onto the soft grass. He stretched out on his side, propping his head up on one hand, elbow bent and resting on the ground. His gaze returned to Dean, this time staying riveted on the man in front of him.

The small monkey moved over to Dean and reached for his shirt, pulling at the sides as though trying to figure out how to remove it, one of its hands shifted away from the material to dangle a tiny finger inside the holes between the buttons, ticking against the small patches of skin that showed through. The creature looked over at a rather bemused looking Sam and gave what sounded like a very annoyed screech as though just now realizing that Sam had sent him on an impossible mission.

A muscle in Dean's jaw throbbed as he held still while the creature tried to tear at his clothes or something. Its master just lay there, looking relaxed, but staring at him like he expected something. Dean wasn't sure what that could be. When the monkey turned away from him, Dean reached out and slowly stroked its back. The way the little monkey suddenly turned back and screeched at him had Dean quickly rolling away.  
His heart pounded against his chest. He knew he needed to get away, it made no sense to stay here and wait for something bad to happen. Slowly, he started to sit up. When the wild man slowly emulated him, also sitting up, he lost a bit of his hope. "Well ah... thanks for your... your hospitality. I really have to get going now. I'll need my spectacles..." Right, why was he even expecting an answer? "And directions. Directions would be good, but not critical," he said, pulling up to his feet and slowly turning around. "Good bye now. It's been... swell."

Sam watched the man for a couple of minutes before he jumped to his feet and hurried after him. Reaching Dean, Sam wrapped an arm around his waist and picked him bodily up off the ground. The man's feet dangled as his backside was pressed against Sam's front while the jungle man walked backward then turned, marching them back to the spot where he had set the man down before. He gave a deep grunt as he released Dean and held a hand out as though to hold the man there though he didn't touch him anymore than he already had. 

Even right though his still wet clothes, Dean's skin burned everywhere Sam's body had touched him, pressed into him. He turned around slowly and looked up into the man's face. "You don't know what you're doing to me, do you? You don't even understand me." Dean looked over at the small monkey and back at the guy. "You... you're looking for someone to talk to. Do you understand this?" he asked, using a few words he'd learned from Tumba and the other natives. When even that drew only a blank look, Dean finally realized this man might not have any language, that he might be feral. Whether or not he was dangerous was the question. Though he'd practically drowned him, Dean had to admit that he'd also saved him from the crocodile, and that despite the manhandling, he'd been very gentle. At least, so far. 

"I'm Dean. Dean," he repeated, touching his own chest. "Dean." 

Sam made a face, his brow furrowing in befuddlement for a moment before his brows knitted in a fierce look of stubborn concentration. He lifted his hand and pressed it to his own chest, "D--eean," he echoed, butchering the name severely. 

"Yeah, that's right!" Dean started to grin until he realized the guy was pointing at himself. Dean shook his head, "No, no, no. I'm Dean." He pointed at himself again. Then he pointed at the creature that had an arm wrapped around the wild man's leg. "Monkey." "I'm Dean, that's Monkey." Daring to take a step, he touched the man's chest and met his eyes, hoping for a name.

When there was no answer, Dean touched his own chest again, "Dean."

Sam's eyes bore into Dean's for a moment before lowering to the man's hand pressed to his chest. He lifted his own arm and pressed his hand against Dean's hand, pinning it there before he lifted his smoldering gaze to the man's. "D-ean," he murmured softly.

"Y... yes." Dean licked his lips, barely daring to breathe. When the man didn't pull his hand away, Dean looked up at him and couldn't look away again. The heat in the man's eyes, the hunger, it made Dean's knees go weak, even though he knew it was one more thing he could chalk up to his imagination. 

Keeping Dean's hand pinned, Sam took a tentative step closer and started to lean in, his gaze intent on Dean's. The monkey that had been holding onto Sam's leg released its grip and sensing what was about to happen, covered its eyes. Sam's eyes flickered between Dean's eyes and his lips as he drew closer before his they fluttered closed as he puckered up and pressed his lips against the man's in a chaste kiss, the same kind that he had seen the monkeys exchange. 

A shot suddenly rang out nearby, causing Sam to jump back with a start, his eyes snapping open wide. The monkey who'd been nearby scurried off even before Sam had a chance to whip his head around toward the source of the sound which was now followed by the rather noisy chatter of Dean's companions. Releasing Dean's hand abruptly, Sam turned and ran off into the depths of the jungle. 

"Come back here you son of a bitch!" Bill Harvelle yelled as he ran up to where Sam had been standing only moments before and took aim with his rifle, pulling the trigger then dashing off after the so called white ape. 

John and Jo rushed to Dean's side and his father handed Dean his glasses. "We found these a ways back," he explained as he continued to wait for his son to take them from his grasp, "Tracked you here."

Jo threw her arms around Dean, hugging him tight. "Oh my poor Dean, what did that thing do to you?" 

"Are you hurt?" His father asked. 

Dean was stunned, both by the near kiss from the wild man and the sound of the rifle shots. He came out of it pretty fast when he realized that Bill and some of the other hunters were chasing the wild man. "Stop. He didn't hurt me," he said, trying to get out of Jo's embrace, only to have his arm grabbed by his father. "Father, it's just some guy... he didn't do anything."  
"Are you telling me you ran off with that thing without saying a word to any of us?" John Winchester demanded, his chest puffing out. He slapped the glasses onto Dean's chest, releasing them once his son took them.

"No, but..." Dean raised his head as he heard that strange call vibrating through the jungle. Maybe it would scare the hunters. He could only hope. Maybe he was a big idiot, but he was rooting for the wild man. Hoping he got away. Yeah, the way the man swam and moved, there was no way those big lugs would get him.

He felt a tug on his sleeve and looked down at Jo, who was telling him he needed to change out of his clothes and was treating him like he was in shock. Well maybe he was, but it wasn't for the reasons they all thought.

Bill and the others returned, cursing and complaining.

Dean could understand their wanting to protect him, and the group, from a stranger. But he couldn't understand why they went after the man like that. It was just a man. A strange one at that. What would they do if they caught him? Complain that he'd followed them? Maybe they were afraid he was after the great white ape too, he'd heard some talk about other expeditions. Still, that man did not look at all like a hunter.

"Let's get back to camp, but keep your eyes open people. Especially you, Dean. No more wandering off," Harvelle said.

Hiding a smile, Dean agreed it was time to get back to camp. The farther they got from the wild man the safer he'd be. Putting his glasses on, he allowed Jo to lock arms with him and to drag him away. His mind was miles away though, he heard none of her chatter or the rough talk from the men.


	2. Chapter 2

That night, Dean blew out his oil lamp early and feigned sleep in order to get some peace. The sounds of the jungle reminded him of the adventures of his day. Eyes closed, he thought back on the wild man. At first, his thoughts were innocent and pure. He wondered how the man swam so fast, how he'd leaped out of the water like some dolphin. He marveled at his strength, and his stealth. 

Before he knew it, his thoughts went in another direction. Clad in just barely a scrap of soft suede that left nothing to the imagination, the man acted as if he had no idea what he looked like. That covered in lean hard muscles that rippled when he moved, he rivaled the Greek Gods, with their sculpted frames and chiseled features. 

Then there was the way the man made Dean _feel_. Just thinking on it had him squirming in his bed roll. Squeezing his eyes closed, he tried not to react to the memories washing over him. The heat of the man's body seeping through his own wet clothes, the way he'd been so damned aware of every hard plane of his body. The way lips tingled and burned when they were face to face, and close. The brush of the man's lips against his own. He couldn't even be sure it had been a kiss, and yet... the hunger in the man's eyes. Dean's hand closed around the bed cloths, tightening around them. He wished there was a way to stop this, this yearning for things that were deemed unnatural.

A long time later, he was still tossing and turning. A sheen of sweat covered his body. He blamed the sticky heat for his inability to sleep, but by the time he finally sat up and accepted sleep would elude him, he knew that it was thoughts of the wild man that kept him up.

Quietly, he crawled out of the tent and then headed for the edges of the camp. His father be damned, Bill Harvelle be damned, he wanted to be out there. He wouldn't admit what else he wanted, not even to himself. 

*

Sam had returned to his home after he'd lead the hunters off, easily evading their efforts to wound or capture him. After night fell, he tracked the hunting party again through the jungle, a feat that was not difficult with the wide tracks they made along with all the noise that echoed through the trees, alerting anything and everything nearby of their presence. 

Seeing Dean rise from his tent and walk out into the night, Sam left a present for him in his path, a few feet from the camp. He'd wrapped the gift in the same cured animal hide that his loin cloth was made from so that it would not get damaged. He stood watch, hiding amongst the trees and shrubbery until he was sure Dean would find it, then he turned and silently slipped away, deeper into the jungle. Heading for his home in the trees, he paused only to throw his back his head and cry out into the night, "AAAHHHH eeee ahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaa ahahaaaaaaaaaaaa," his voice echoing through the dense jungle.

Hearing the sound, Dean stopped in his tracks and waited. When there was nothing more, he took a few more steps, then leaned against a tree and looked out into the jungle. He thought back on the other night, when he'd seen the shadow of a man. It must have been the wild man. It had to have been!

"Hello?" he called out softly, his stomach fluttering. 

Of course there was no answer. After the hunters had shot at him, the man would be a fool to come back. It was probably the last Dean would see of him. The thought depressed him more than it should. 

Rubbing the back of his neck, he was about to walk back when with the aid of the moonlight he saw something dark the ground. Looking around first, he walked further out and then dropped down to the ground, reaching for the small parcel wrapped in soft buttery suede. Just like the wild man's loin cloth. The thought sent his pulse racing. 

Slowly, Dean unwrapped the gift. His hand closed around his journal, the one he'd thought he'd never see again. But how? 

He took a few deep breaths and put it all together. The vine that had been thrown down to him, it had to have been the wild man's doing. And then later, the man must have rescued his book. Dean thumbed through it to see if there was anything in it, but found nothing but his own neat scrawling.

"Thank you," he whispered, waiting another few minutes, before getting up and taking the suede covering and book with him. A parting gift.

* * *

The next day was another long one. The others hadn't allowed Dean to fall behind this time so he'd been stuck with all the inane conversation they meted out. He had to admit, Jo was the only one who had interesting conversation from time to time, but the fact that she was after him sometimes made it uncomfortable. She was her father's daughter, and what Jo Harvelle wanted, Jo Harvelle got. Now that she'd set her sights on him, Dean felt as hunted as this white ape that seemed more legend than truth, not that he'd learned a whole lot about it.

When they stopped to rest and eat, Jo cornered him. Even had him trapped against a tree, her hands on either side of his shoulders, pressed against the tree trunk. 

"Jo, this is unseemly," he said, swallowing nervously. This time, there was none of the excitement he'd felt when it was the wild man who had him trapped. 

Jo's lips curled into a lascivious smile. "Who's gonna see us, Dean, the animals? The savages? My father, your father? Both of who want us to be together," she purred. "No one who matters is going to see and no one is going to tell anyone who does matter," she added, knowing by his expression and the way his lips moved, exactly what Dean Winchester was about to say. He would tell her that a lady did not engage in such behavior, and then, like he'd done a hundred times before, he would gently push her away. Maybe he'd been right to do so before when they'd been in places where it had been improper, however this was a God forsaken jungle and no one cared about the rules, not the savages, and certainly not the creature her father was hunting. "Kiss me, Dean," she urged, "Kiss me and prove all those others wrong," she insisted giving a dainty pout.

"They're not savages, they're..." Dean knew it was useless explaining these things. Most folks thought different meant less. He did wonder if he launched into a lecture, whether she might let this go. But the look in her eyes told him otherwise. 

His gaze dropped to her mouth. He didn't want it, he didn't want to kiss her. He locked gazes with her. "What things, Jo?" he asked, his heart sinking. "What do I need to prove?"

"Well, the others..." she began, her words soft and discrete, as though no one would see a stolen kiss but someone might overhear their softly spoken conversation. "They wonder about you," she went on, "they say that you don't ever want a wife, that maybe you're...ya know... unable to... that you don't like..." she blushed and cleared her throat as her gaze lowered briefly before she lifted it with a warm smile. "But I know better," she assured, not that she truly had any way of knowing for sure.

"I see," he said stiffly. He did, sort of. And yet it didn't sit right, knowing he'd been talked about. "What else do _they_ say? What does my father say?" he asked more heatedly, knowing she was implying more than she said.

"Your father?" Jo inquired innocently, her blue eyes wide. "I never said..." she allowed her words to trail off and instead leaned in and pressed her lips to Dean's.

Instead of pulling away, he let her kiss him. Her lips were warm and soft, and she was indeed a beautiful woman, but he felt nothing and wished it would be over quickly. He heard her sigh and hoped she was done, but his hopes were dashed when he felt her tongue try to push past his lips. "Mmm... mn..." he tore his mouth away. His gaze locked with hers, he froze, afraid of what she'd say. 

Jo's eyes shot open and her brows creased in confusion, "What's wrong?" She inquired, "Didn't you like it? Did I do something wrong?"

"No. It's..." Grasping her shoulders, Dean gently pushed her away. "It doesn't matter that no one is around to see. I won't be responsible for ... I won't take advantage," he said, a heavy weight settling deep in his gut. 

Jo huffed and grit her teeth as she glared at Dean, "You know what, your father is right about you, you are awkward!" She shouted angrily before stomping a foot and turning around, storming away from him. 

He sagged against the tree. Was that all his father had said? He wasn't so sure. Once, a long time ago, when his dad had been drunk, he'd hurled insults at him. The insults had hit home, thought he'd done his best not to react or confirm or deny them. It had been years ago, but Dean had tried hard to block that memory.

For what seemed the hundredth time, he wished he were exploring this jungle alone. People, his family and their friends, society, they just complicated things. 

Quite a while longer, he headed to the edge of the camp, sat down on a fallen tree trunk near a narrow but deep stream and started to scribble in his journal. It was his way of shutting out the world, of being in a place where he was neither judged nor feared being judged. A place where he didn't have to pretend.

*

Pulling out his pocket watch, Dean saw nearly an hour had passed. He'd need to get back soon, before they started grumbling about him having his head in the clouds or being anti-social. When he got to his feet, he decided he might as well take a piss before they took off. Setting his journal on a branch of a nearby tree, he looked left and right, made certain no one was around, then turned toward the stream and started to unfasten his trousers. 

Had Dean looked up, he would have seen a large python slithering down toward him from the higher branches of the tree, intent on making him its next meal. But he never did see it coming.

The snake dropped down and moved so fast and was so strong, Dean never had a chance to fight it off when it started to wrap around him. The snake coiled around Dean, pinning his arms to his sides, and moving up his body, around his waist and chest, and his neck, expanding and squeezing him, crushing the life out of him. His air had been squeezed out of him, so he couldn't give much of a cry for help, even before the snake started tightening around his wind pipe.

Thoughts and images carded through Dean's mind. His mother's tears. She'd fight with his father, tell him he shouldn't have taken Dean along to Africa. They'd look through his journals, get glimpses of parts of himself he'd never shared with them, if they even understood his heavily coded writings when it came to some aspects of his life. 

The sun, shining through the dark leaves overhead, was suddenly too bright for Dean. How could he care about that when his body had been emptied of air and it hurt more than any pain he'd ever felt? Blackness started edging in and he welcomed it. Nothing and no one could save him now, he was already dead.

 

Sam suddenly immerged out of the water in front of Dean. His hands closed around the snake, tugging and yanking on it, slowly forcing the reptile to release its hold around Dean's body, around his neck. Sam's muscles bulged and burned from the exertion as he struggled with the python. With his focus centered on rescuing Dean, he didn't notice when the snake's body unwrapped from the lower limbs of the tree, curling around his own body instead. 

With Dean now fighting for freedom and with the snake no longer clinging to the tree, all three of them toppled over. Sam's grip on the snake never wavered even as he fell backwards into the water. 

The wild man had come for him! That thought registered, and Dean was able to draw a partial breath before they were all rolling in the murky depths of the water. He fought harder now that there was a chance, tried to claw at the snake, to help the wild man who was surprisingly keeping the snake from squeezing the life out of Dean. The man was strong. So strong that Dean actually felt the snake being pulled away from his throat, and getting peeled off his chest. Managing to free an arm, his hand slipped past the wild man's. The reassurance that he was still in the water with him had Dean fighting that much harder, struggling to stay alive. 

The snake slowly slipped free of Dean's body though it wrapped around Sam's instead, its head lifting up out of the water with a loud hiss, it's mouth opened wide. The python's body swelled choking off air to Sam's lungs and pressing hard against bones, bones that would shatter in the grip of the snake's swollen body. Its upper body lunged at Sam, shoving him deep into the water. 

Water splashed up, swirled and bubbled as Sam struggled against the large jungle snake but, in the end, the python sank its fangs deep into his flesh as it continued to stubbornly squeeze the very life from him. Sam managed to lift his arm up out of the water, then brought it down again and again, punching the snake while he struggled, attempting to cause the snake so much pain that it would release him. 

One minute the two were rolling through the water, wrestling against one another, each seeking to gain the upper hand, and in the next, Sam managed to free himself. He quickly turned as soon as he was free and swam with all his might toward Dean. He grabbed Dean around the waist and guided him out of the water. 

As soon as they stepped onto dry land, Sam crouched, then hefted Dean up and over his shoulder and carried him into the jungle. 

Coughing and gasping for air, seeing the ground go by and being jostled as the wild man walked, Dean only knew that ridiculous as it might look, the way he was being held now in the strong arms of the stranger who'd risked his own life for him, it made Dean feel safe and protected. Without protest, he allowed himself to be carried away from the place he'd nearly died.

Sam carried Dean deep into the jungle and across a small fallen log bridge. His steps gradually began to falter, his body growing weaker and weaker as he'd strode purposefully toward safety. With another couple stumble-steps forward, Sam abruptly allowed Dean's body to slip from his shoulder, catching him before the man's body impacted the ground. He carefully helped Dean ease himself down against the soft grass before the last of his energy and strength left him. Sam slumped forward, his eyes rolling up into his head. He collapsed face first with a grunt before he rolled onto his back, arms and legs spread wide, eyes closed and lips slightly parted as he slipped into unconsciousness. 

During the long trek, Dean had rested and caught his breath. When he'd gently been put down, he'd thought they could talk, or try to communicate after what had happened. Instead, the man collapsed next to him, like he'd given everything he had to rescue him and held on until he had Dean somewhere safe. 

Sitting up, Dean put his hand on the man's bare chest and shook him. It was like the man was in a deep sleep from exhaustion, which made sense since he'd fought a python and then walked this far carrying Dean's weight. He deserved a little rest, some sleep.

Although Dean had been embarrassed to look at the man too closely or too obviously before, now that he was out cold, Dean's gaze traveled slowly over every inch of him. Over his bare feet and long legs, his powerfully built thighs that were barely covered by the loin cloth slung low on his hips. Dean's heart gave a tumble, his gaze lingering where the wet leather contrasted against bronze, sun kissed skin.

As his gaze traveled up to the man's naval and Dean's gut tightened in the most delicious and Godawful wrong way. His breath caught in his throat and, God help him, he couldn't help leaning over the man to take a closer look. The planes of his stomach and his chiseled chest, uncovered, unhidden by layers of clothes, so proudly displayed for all who cared to look. 

Dragging his gaze up the column of the man's throat and along that strong jaw, Dean focused on the man's well-formed mouth. His lips were firm and a dark red, and always so serious... he'd never seen the wild man smile. He remembered how soft and gentle his mouth had felt against his own. Putting his hand out, Dean touched him then, using his middle finger to trace the outline of the man's mouth, a soft, involuntary moan leaving him as color flooded his cheeks at the forbidden images crowding his mind. 

Two chimps came out of the nearby bushes and screeched loudly at Dean as if trying to scare him away from Sam's prone form. They quickly made their way over to Sam and inspected him, sniffing him and pressing chaste kisses to his forehead as soft whimpers sounded from their throat. 

An elephant walked out of the jungle, trumpeting loudly as it reached Sam. Dipping its enormous head, it scooped Sam up onto its large curved large tusks and turned, slowly carrying him away, while the two chimps followed, chattering and nattering away.

Struck dumb, Dean twisted around, bracing his weight on his hands flat on the ground, watching the trio of animals taking the wild man and leaving him behind. He'd started to protest when the enormous tusks moved in, but the elephant had been so gentle, and the monkeys who clearly belonged to the wild man and who'd been chastising Dean earlier had seen no threat from the gigantic creature. 

Where were they taking the wild man? Would he be alright? Would they know how to care for him until he came around?  
Questions and fears for the man who'd saved his life galvanized Dean into action. Scrambling to his feet, he chased after them. "Wait!" 

The animals paid him no attention and he had the strangest feeling they blamed him for the man's state. He supposed they were right, if he had been more vigilant, there would have been no need for the rescue.

Dean was prepared to walk for as long as it took, however far they were taking the man. At times he caught up, walked alongside the elephant, watching its trunk swing as it seemed to march toward an unknown destination. Maybe this man had a family, maybe the animals were taking him there. 

More questions teased Dean's mind, questions and worries about the man who'd been foolishly brave. If it was at the cost of his life... Dean wasn't sure how he'd handle that. No, it was just exhaustion, it had to be. Or there was no way the man could have carried him so far into the jungle, he told himself over and over.

The elephant tracked through the jungle until it reached the lagoon near the ape man's home in the trees. It lowered its head and allowed Sam's body to tumble from its cradled position between its tusks. Sam's rolled over, face down, then coming to rest on his back, next to the crystal clear waters. 

The elephant slowly turned around, lifted it trunk and trumpeted as it walked away to be swallowed up by the trees. 

The chimps quickly moved in to look over the man sprawled on the ground, their accusing gazes darting up to Dean every few minutes before lowering dejectedly again as they whimpered and poked at Sam as if to get his attention or wake. It was clear they didn't understand what was wrong with the ape man. 

Catching sight of the large tree house built across multiple layers of branches, Dean understood why the animals had brought the man here. He carefully moved closer to the man, dropping to the ground next to him and tuning out the angry chattering of the monkeys. "Just trying to help," he said softly, cupping the side of the man's face as he leaned over him. "You swim like a dolphin, fight like an alligator and you're the bravest person I've ever seen. You can't ... you can't die on me... on them. You just can't," he declared, trying not to sound as helpless as he felt.  
The man's face was a little flushed. Dean moved his hand to his forehead and realized he had a fever. That meant he likely had a wound that was festering. Rocking back, he started inspecting the man, feeling the heat creep up his own face as his gaze dropped to the man's stomach. Quickly looking lower, he saw there were no wounds on his legs. 

Lightly pushing one of the monkeys aside, Dean started to turn the man over when his loin cloth folded up and revealed angry red puncture wounds high up on the man's inner thigh. The thought of tending to it had Dean swallowing hard. If touching this man didn't stir up such feelings within him, he'd still feel self-conscious but not... not so guilty or ashamed. He went ahead and rolled the man over to see if there were any additional bites, closing his eyes for an instant when the man's practically bare ass came into view. He tugged the loin cloth down and cleared his throat, glancing guiltily at the monkeys.

This man had saved his life. It was Dean's turn to do the same. He'd need to clean the wound and keep the man cool, and safe from the jungle animals until the fever broke. He looked up at the tree house and knew that's where he had to take the man.

Getting up, he headed for the large tree. He could see that there were ropes and vines tied into some sort of pulley which the man must have used to take things up. There was also a vine hanging down, but it didn't fall all the way to the ground. Pushing his now bent spectacles into place, Dean started to climb the tree. There were good hand and footholds and he was physically fit and strong. Once he was half way up, he grabbed the vine and holding it, pulled himself up, one hand over the other, until he threw his leg onto the platform of the first level of the tree house. There wasn't much on the platform. Another, shorter vine lead to the next level. Once Dean got there, he found himself admiring the set-up, but pulled himself away from those thoughts. There was too much to be done. 

Heading to the edge of the platform, he released the pulley, lowering the large wooden basket down, and dropping the long pulling vine down to the ground. He scrambled back down to the ground and headed for the man.

Putting one shoulder under the man's arm, he pulled him up off the ground. All muscle and deadweight, the man was heavy as hell. Shifting him, Dean had the man practically on his back and was holding onto him by his arms, with the man's feet dragging on the ground behind them as he headed for the basket. Dean kicked off the wooden guards at two ends of the basket, then set the man down between the two remaining rails, trying to balance him so that he lay evenly across the wooden board.

Stepping back, and once again having to push the interfering monkeys out of his way, he started to pull on the vine. The wild man's head and shoulders, and his legs, hanged down off the sides of the wooden frame under him, but Dean could see this was going to work. Wrapping the vine around his fist he pulled, took a step back, and pulled again, over and over, hefting the wild man up one length at a time until the basket was even with the platform of the tree house. Seeing what had clearly been made as a hook for this purpose, Dean used it to secure the length of vine in his hands, then tested it to make sure the basket would not tumble to the ground. 

Then he climbed back up the tree and pulled the basket onto the platform. By the time he had the wild man laying on a thin pallet of grass under a mesh of reeds, he was sweating. His clothes had long dried and no longer cooled him off, though night would be here in a few hours, and that would help.

Looking around, he saw the wild man had torches set up. There was also a large oil lamp. He checked his pockets and found his friction matches. Happy they had dried in the heat, he struck one and tried to light the oil lamp. Then he saw it had no oil. Cursing, he went to light a few of the torches surrounding the makeshift house.

He also lit the fire in what was a stone lined fire pit that the wild man clearly used for cooking. There was plenty of water in a trough and Dean boiled some over the fire. He'd need it for drinking water and to clean the man's wound.

When he was ready, he went back to the wild man's side. The man's body was covered in a light sheen of sweat, gleaming under the golden lights thrown by the torches. Dean used a wet cloth to start wiping him down, gently dabbing his brow and face. As he squeezed the wet cloth over the man's chest and the water drenched him, Dean saw the man's nipples tighten. Just like that, the breath was knocked out of him, both by the unexpected sight, and his own reaction to it. How could something so small, so natural, make him flush with such heat?

Averting his gaze, Dean wiped the man's chest and stomach, only occasionally stealing glances. Even that didn't help much. The way the man's muscles felt under his hands, even right through the damned cloth, sent thrills through Dean. He knew he ought to be praying or apologizing, or something, but he couldn't rightly concentration on much.

He got through the rest of the task, quickly wiping down the man's legs and trying hard to tamp down on his feelings. When he was done, he took a deep breath and parted the man's thighs. His hands shook, his head went to places he only allowed himself to go once in a long while, when he was alone. 

He'd never touched a man's thighs, not like this. It made him feel restless, like he wanted to squirm. Like he needed to gasp for air. 

His gaze slipped up to the man's handsome face. He remembered how the man had looked at him right before he'd pressed his lips against Dean's. Dean's lips burned now, aching for another touch.   
"You may have saved my life, but you're also responsible for driving me crazy," he tossed out, trying to pull himself together. 

With his lips pressed into a thin line, he grabbed the small flask of whisky he had in the inner pocket of his jacket and pulling the man's thigh to the side, poured alcohol over the angry red bite marks. With a clean cloth, he started to cleanse the dried blood and the wound. He was concentrating so hard, it was a shock when he lowered his arm and felt it press against the man's groin. Pulling away abruptly and feeling the color flood into his cheeks, he almost stammered an apology.

Could this get any worse? What with having almost been bitten by a snake, and now tending to an incredibly attractive man with a wound that was located in the worst possible place. Well maybe there was a worse place or two. Or the snake could have been a venomous one, which would mean he'd have to...

Through glazed eyes, Dean imagined himself lowering his head between the man's thighs. Whichever angle he imagined himself, he knew that a part of him, his cheek, his nose or his forehead would rub against the man's groin as he sucked the venom out of him. Dean's gut tightened. He felt the blood rushing to his cock, filling it. It had him throbbing, and uncomfortable, and so damned hot.

Cursing softly, he tried to ignore his erection. His hand shook as he finished cleaning the wound and pouring more alcohol over it. By the time he was done, he'd imagined himself kissing the man's injury better and even laying over him to know what that would feel like. He knew very well that it was wrong, for a number of reasons. And that the only reason he'd even contemplated it for a split second was that the man was out cold, and that it would be safe, safe for Dean. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered, pulling away. He'd watch over the man, dry his sweat and cool him off with water. He'd keep the man safe, safe from himself, even if he couldn't promise to keep him safe from his sinful thoughts.

* * *

The chimps ran back and forth, sometimes flanking the wild man, and often sitting at the edges of the tree house and vigilantly keeping watch over him. 

Time slowly ticked by and the sun began to descend, bathing the African sky in shades of warm gold, pale lavender, and exotic blues. The heat had not eased with the setting of the sun, and the fire in the cooking pit did not help. A slick sheen o sweat covered the ape man's near naked flesh where he lay on his make shift bed.

His head slowly rolled to the side with a soft audible groan, his brows furrowing slightly as he slowly grew conscious. The dark lashes fanning across his cheek bones fluttered as he began to waken, his eyes sliding open to heavy lidded slits, his gaze falling immediately on the light haired man nearby. 

The low sound brought Dean awake. He was preparing to get up and start another round of cooling the wild man off when he felt the weight of a stare. His eyes flew to the man's and seeing them open, he gave a tired smile. "He lives."   
Sam's eyes moved from Dean's features downward over the man's stained clothes, taking in the width of his shoulders, the way his body tapered down into narrow hips, where the light colored material tucked into sandy colored pants. His brow furrowed curiously before Sam reached out with one hand, index finger catching on the neck of the man's shirt. His eyes flickered up to Dean's in confusion before lowering again and he reached with his other hand too, tugging on both sides of the shirt in an attempt to open it up to remove the stained cloth from the man's body.

"What?" Searching the floor for his glasses and putting them on, Dean's gaze went from the man's hands to his face and back. "Ah.... shirt." He pushed the man's hands away. "It's a shirt. You should get one. It would be uh... safer for the rest of us," he mumbled, looking back at him. 

Sam's brows knitted in confused annoyance at having his hands shoved away when he was trying to work the man out of all that cloth. He moved his hands back to where they'd been, this time holding on tighter when Dean tried to push him away. His gaze met Dean's unwaveringly as if daring him to try it again. He yanked at the material, his eyes lowering in confusion as he watched the tiny pearlized things suddenly rain down off the man's clothing. 

Dean's heart raced, partly from the warning look and partly in reaction to the man's nearness, his touch. When his buttons popped off, he cocked his head but didn't move. His chest rose and fell faster than usual, but he decided it would be best not to move, not to challenge this man. His attention trained on the wild man, Dean hardly even noticed the monkeys stealing the buttons and running away.

Sam's eyes lifted to Dean's before lowering to the sliver of skin now revealed between the two sides of the man's shirt. Releasing one side, he moved his hand to the bare skin beneath, pressing his palm flat against it. Lifting his eyes to the man's grass green ones, Sam's head tilted just slightly against the pillow. "D-ean," he rasped softly. 

Dean's audible intake of breath hung between them as he tried to get used to the feel of the warm, calloused hand laying directly on his skin. He wondered if the man could feel his heart pounding. Licking his suddenly dry lips, he nodded. "Yes, Dean. Dean." Slowly, he reached out and touched the man's chest very lightly, waiting for an answer.

Sam's eyes lowered and his free hand moved to lay over Dean's at his chest just as it had the day they'd stood next to the lagoon. Lifting his gaze back to Dean's, his hand at Dean's chest moved, caressing the man's chest. His eyes lowered to Dean's lips and he began to slowly lift his head and lean in. His eyes flickering between the man's lips and his eyes before he puckered his lips and squeezed his eyes closed. His lips slowly moved toward Dean's until finally he pressed them lightly against Dean's.

It wasn't what Dean expected, not at all. Perhaps in the deepest recesses of his heart, he'd wished for it, but it had been just a safe wish nursed by him. This was different. It was real. It forced him to face up to his forbidden feelings. He barely breathed as the man's lips grazed his. Improper thoughts flooded his mind. Thoughts of leaning closer, of putting his arm around the man. 

Doing his best to fight against this, this call of the wild, Dean moaned softly and pulled back just a little. His lips burned at the thought that only a fraction of an inch would close the gap between them once more. 

Sam's eyes fluttered open and he gazed into the man's face, brows creasing in confusion. His gaze lowered again to Dean's lips and an echo of the same sensations he'd experienced as he'd kissed the man raced along his nerve endings, causing him to close the distance once more, pressing his lips back against Dean's, a softly sighed moan tumbling from his throat.

Dean wished he felt nothing, wished it was like Jo's kiss, a touch of lips that didn't send his mind spinning, that didn't make his stomach turn somersaults and make him want the moment to last into eternity. It would be easy, so easy to claim he was afraid to push this man away. Though in truth he was uncertain of the man's reaction to being pushed, he wasn't truly afraid he'd be harmed. But could he pretend for just a moment, lie to himself? When he parted his lips, he wasn't sure if it was to protest or to ask for another kiss. 

At the end of the kiss as Sam pulled his head back just marginally, Sam lifted a hand and placed a fingertip against the man's full bottom lip, tracing it slowly, his eyes darting up to meet Dean's. He stared into the man's eyes for a long moment, his finger slowly slipping off the center of the center of Dean's bottom lip. He moved his other hand across Dean's chest, pushing the material of his shirt to his shoulder until it finally slipped off, revealing more lightly freckled skin. Lowering his gaze, Sam ran his hand over the newly exposed flesh before slipping his hand down along Dean's side, fingers curling, grasping a fistful of material, pulling it up from the man's pants; untucking his shirt, exposing more of Dean's flesh. He ran his hand upward across the warm bare skin of the man's side, his eyes flickering back up to Dean's. 

"D-ean," he whispered huskily. 

"Yesss," Dean responded, writhing under the man's touches, his body being jerked a little as the man pulled on his clothes. His own voice was rough and husky, unfamiliar to his ears. His eyes slid closed as the man's warm, calloused palm caressed him under his shirt, touching him in a way no one ever had. He shivered under the touch and unconsciously lifted up toward it. "Don't... don't even know your name. I'm... I'm Dean. You?" He touched the man's chest, biting his lip when a thrill ran up his arm.   
Sam pulled his hand from Dean's side and wrapped it around him instead, pulling Dean in, up hard against his body. He then rolled them both slightly, his body half over the man's, his dark green wild eyes meeting Dean's. "D-ean," he repeated. Leaning in, he dipped his head as Dean's eyes slipped closed and puckering his lips, he pressed them again against Dean's.

So much for trying for proper introductions. This time, with the man's weight pressing down into him like some secret dream of his, Dean couldn't help himself. He kissed the man back, tilting his face to the side so their mouths slotted together better. He sucked lightly on the man's upper lip and pulled his head back, looking at him from under his lashes.

"Tell me your name," he murmured. 

Sam's head tilted, he frowned at Dean's words. He pulled his arm out from around the man and reached up, plucking Dean's glasses off his face. Pulling his head back slightly, Sam frowned at the spectacles that he held in his hand in confusion before tossing them dismissively over his shoulder. Lowering his hand, he lightly brushed his fingertips across the man's eye lids and along a cheekbone, then down the side of his face, Sam's eyes tracking each movement of his fingers across Dean's skin. 

"Hey..." It was a halfhearted protest from Dean, at best. "I need those to see better. Ah..." he didn't know what to make of the way the man was touching his face, until he thought back to how he'd traced the man's mouth when he'd been unconscious. 

"You feel it too?" Dean asked, realizing by now that he was not going to get an answer. Carefully, he reached up and touched the man's face, exploring it in the same way. "If this were a dream, it would be alright," he mused, though his body wrestled battled his mind, with his conscience, telling them this _was_ right for him.

Sam's head turned toward Dean's hand, chasing after the man's fingers and capturing one between his lips, sucking it into his mouth the way the moneys would suck food from one another's fingertips or show affection in a kiss against fingertips. Finger still held between his lips, Sam eased himself partly off Dean and stretched out on his side, his body snugged up tightly against Dean's as he lay on his side facing the man, his gaze roaming almost lovingly over Dean's features. 

He ought not be trembling with excitement and desire in reaction to having his finger sucked. Dean closed his eyes, as if he could hide from his feelings. As if he could ignore the way the man watched him, or the feelings he stirred up in the pit of his stomach. As if it would stop him from reacting to the hard, barely covered body, pressing insistently against his own. 

"My father would blow our brains out," he whispered hoarsely, desperately trying to find something that would bring him back to his senses.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam moved his arm back around Dean and pulled him impossibly close. Awareness of new, intense sensations from the press of their bodies drew Sam's attention away from Dean's face. As he turned his head to look at Dean's side, Dean's finger slipped from between his lips. Sam's palm smoothed across Dean's skin beneath his shirt, pushing it further off his body. The flat of his hand moved behind Dean, massaging his bared back as he leaned in, puckered his lips and softly blew across the man's damp flesh.

As the wild man's hand roved over his back, Dean arched against him, making a strangled sound when his groin collided against the man's. So wrong... it was so wrong, and yet when the man started to blow his hot breath across his side, all Dean could think was that he wanted more, wanted to taste this man again. Dean closed his arm around the man and leaned in. Slanting his mouth across the man's, Dean kissed him lightly, pulled back for a heartbeat and then kissed him again, this time moaning as he increased the pressure.  
Sam's brow creased curiously as the man pressed his lips harder against his own, with more force than he'd ever seen or known. He pulled his head back and stared at Dean in confusion a soft grunt of a question leaving him as he tilted his head. He gently pushed Dean back onto the bed of leaves and pushed at the other side of his shirt. Sitting up, he shifted, throwing a leg over Dean's hips, sitting down on him, straddling the man. Reaching for the material of the man's shirt, he pulled it down Dean's arm, tugging it out from under the man and tossing it away. Giving a nod of approval he reached for Dean's hand, pressing it to his own chest. He held it there, once again covering it with his own hand as he moved his other one to Dean's chest, pressing his hand palm flat against the warm skin. "D-ean," he muttered with a nod. 

Dean found himself half naked, like the wild man. Straddled by him. He should be fighting this, but his traitorous body refused to put an end to this madness. Taking the wild man's hand, he pressed it to the man's chest. "Name?" He asked again then pulled his hand back and placed it on his own chest, "Dean." Putting their joint hands back on the man's chest, and waited to see if he would get a name this time.

Sam bowed a little, his gaze lowering from Dean's face to their joined hands against his chest. He lifted his head, brow creased in confusion as his head again tilted to the side in bewilderment. It took another moment before Sam thought that he might know what Dean was asking, even though he didn't understand the words. Slipping his hand from Dean's he threw his leg back over the man and began to climb off the bed. Pausing, he reached over and patted Dean's chest with one hand, telling him to stay there. 

Turning away, Sam walked purposefully across the room and crouched down next to a battered old wooden trunk that looked very much as if it was as old as the jungle that surrounded the tree house. Reverently, he opened it and plucked out one of the three items that lay protected inside. 

Closing the lid of the trunk back up, Sam pulled to his full height and returned to the bed to sit down next to o Dean. Pulling his gaze from Dean's, he looked down at the photograph he had protected for so long, holding it carefully, as if it was made of the most delicate blown glass.

Dean started to sit up, but the man pushed him back down. Glaring at him, Dean put his hand on the mattress and pushed himself up anyway. His mouth dropped slightly open when the wild man gently pressed the treasure he'd retrieved from the trunk against Dean's chest, giving him a slight nod.

Nodding back, Dean slowly took it. "Picture. It's a picture," he said, looking around to see where his glasses were. Slowly, so as not to set the man off, he reached across the floor and picked up his spectacles, putting them on. Blinking, he looked through the lenses at the picture, muttering "much better." 

The water stained picture showed a man and woman looking down at the babe she held in her arms. Dean looked up at the wild man, and then turned the picture over. Three names were written in a neat script. "Bobby, Ellen and Sammy Singer. Year of Our Lord, eighteen ninety one." 

Dean's gaze moved back to the man. "Is this you? Sammy?" He licked his lips and then touched Sam's chest. "Sam," he said, sure of himself. "You're Sam." He touched his own chest. "I'm Dean. You're Sam," he said, touching him again and smiling. "Sam Singer." 

Sam gave a soft grunt to Dean's words at first then nodded and lifted a fisted hand to his own chest with wide grin curling his lips, one that revealed his dimples. "Sss-am," he nodded again. 

"That's right," Dean couldn't help grinning back. "Sam. Course that just makes me want to know what happened to your parents and how you... I'm running off at the mouth and you don't understand," he said, a little self-consciously. "Okay, Sam, do you want some water?" He pointed at the trough. "You should drink some more. And I... I should put my clothes back on," he said, reaching for his shirt.

Sam's gaze followed the movement of Dean's hand and he quickly lunged, grasping the man's wrist, stopping him from getting to his shirt. He shook his head at Dean when he looked over at him. With his other hand, he plucked the man's shirt up off the side of the bed and threw it hard, right out of the tree house before turning his attention back to Dean with an agitated shriek that matched the sounds the monkeys had made earlier.

The high pitched sound had Dean jumping back. "Whoa... I... it's _my_ shirt you just threw out." Protectively, he brought his hand to his temple, to prevent Sam from delivering the same treatment to his glasses. "Sam, calm down," he said, wondering if Sam had grown up with the monkeys. He'd heard of feral children brought up by foxes, but by monkeys?

Sam reached out and grabbed Dean's ankles, pulling him across the bed and underneath him as he walked forward on his knees, straddling Dean's hips.

A loud angry shrieking sound came from the other side of the room, one that had Sam's head snapping to the side, looking over toward the source of the noise. His upper lip curled, baring his teeth, he gave a loud return shriek and stared back at the large chimpanzee that stood across the room, also revealing its own teeth.

Sam quickly lifted off Dean and reaching for him, pulled Dean into the protection of his arms. He tucked his head in against Dean's neck, puckered lips, pressing them against the sensitive skin, moving them against the tender flesh, nipping gently with his lips, exactly the way the monkeys did. All the while, Sam's eyes remained glued on the chimp across from them. 

Sam's manhandling reinforced for Dean the fact that Sam was extremely strong and could be dangerous. And yet, the way he was being cradled by him now, it showed Dean how gentle Sam could be. The nibbling at his throat sent pleasure coursing through him, but he found he simply couldn't ignore the chimp watching them, or the fact that Sam seemed to be communicating with it. He tried to pull away but he was afraid to push too hard. 

"Sam. Sam?" He pushed his hand between their bodies, thinking he'd put some distance between them. Instead, he had the incredible urge to run his hands all over Sam, to explore his chest and abs. Biting his lip in frustration, he did pull away.

Sam scrambled to pull Dean back up against him, wrapping both his arms around him and pinning Dean's own to his sides in the process. It wasn't until the chimp finally backed off and made his way out of the tree house that Sam gently lowered Dean down onto the makeshift bed and straddled him once again. He leaned down over Dean, forearms braced on either side of the man's body while his eyes raked over Dean's face and soft grunts and 'oo-oo' sounds fell from his lips as though he were trying to communicate, to explain what had just happened. 

Lifting his hand off the pallet, Sam ran his hand tenderly along the side of Dean's face, his thumb running softly across the man's freckled cheekbone before he allowed his hand to slip away and leaned in, his head dipping down. He pressed his lips against Dean's throat, nipping at the tender flesh with his lips.

"Sam no." Dean's weak protest was followed by a blatant moan of pleasure. Between the weight of Sam's body across his hips, the slight pressure over his groin and the shivers running along Dean's skin in every place Sam kissed and nibbled on his throat, Dean could barely think straight. "Saaam." This time he whispered the name in invitation, winding his arms around Sam and running his finger through the long hair at the nape of his neck. 

"Kiss me. On my mouth. Kiss me," he said, pulling away and puckering his lips, willing Sam to give him what he needed almost as badly as he needed to breathe.

Sam lifted his head, brow furrowed curiously. His eyes lowered to Dean's lips and he dipped his head, his eyes slipping closed. Puckering his own lips, he kissed the man softly, tenderly, then allowed his lips to part against Dean's, nipping gently at them the same way he'd nipped the soft skin of his throat. He captured Dean's lips one at a time, sucking at them softly, just as he had sucked on the man's fingertip. Slowly, he slid his legs down one at a time, stretching out on top of Dean, blanketing the man's body with own as he lifted his head and gazed heatedly down into Dean's face.

"Way you're looking at me, it's illegal. You know that?" Dean rasped.

He was sure Sam had no idea, and he was equally sure that he was looking at Sam the same way. He shifted his leg a little, his cheeks warming when his knee slipped between Sam's legs, a sharp reminder of how he'd parted Sam's thighs earlier. "We're... we're just kissing, right?" Dean's mind spun with other thoughts, places he couldn't go. But he wanted another kiss. He craved it.

Sam's head tilted slightly at the words he couldn't understand when Dean's leg slipped between his own. His hips seemed to move of their own accord, a wanton cantering of his hips against Dean's thigh that had him gasping in a startled breath at the sensations that rushed through him. His eyes widened as he stared down at Dean in shock unsure who or what had caused the feelings of pleasure rushing through him, the tightening and flip-flopping of his stomach.

"Kiss," Dean demanded again, this time pulling Sam down and shyly running one hand lower on his back, daring to put his hand over Sam's barely covered ass, touching him ever so lightly as he lifted his head and kissed Sam the way Jo had kissed him.

When Dean's hand moved down to his ass, Sam found himself arching just slightly into the touch, a movement he didn't totally understand but decided not to dwell on when Dean's mouth pressed against his own. Relaxing slightly, he kissed Dean back without hesitation, though when Dean's tongue invaded his mouth, Sam's eyes snapped open and his head jerked back 

"Did... did I do something wrong?" Dean asked, "I... I'm sorry." As exhilarated as he'd felt a moment ago, he was suddenly scared and miserable about having done something Sam might not have wanted. 

Sam tilted his head to the side, his brow creased. His eyes lowered to Dean's mouth and he leaned in then abruptly jerked back only to reach out and pull Dean's upper lip up in an attempt to take a look at his tongue. Seeing only teeth instead, Sam grunted and jerked his head toward Dean, his fingers shifting, the tips pressing against the bottoms of the man's teeth as he tried to pry the man's mouth open. 

"Mnnno!" Dean pulled his head away. "The hell... what are you doing?" He wiped his mouth and started pushing Sam up, trying to sit up. "This... I think it's a bad idea. We don't even understand each other." 

Since he was still laying on top of Dean, Sam easily pushed Dean back down against the pallet. Exactly where Dean thought he was going to get off to Sam wasn't sure. Placing his hands on Dean's shoulder's, holding him down to the make shift bed, he quickly leaned in and tilted his head, crushing his mouth against Dean's. Mimicking Dean, he thrust his tongue in past Dean's lips.

As Sam's tongue delved into his mouth, Dean moaned and found himself putting his hand behind Sam's head to prevent him from pulling away. He stroked Sam's tongue with his own then swirled his tongue around in a gentle game of catch. As Sam's mouth moved over his, Dean pulled him closer, experimenting, tasting him, his body practically vibrating with the sensations washing over him. It was so good, felt so good, as good as he'd imagined whenever he'd allowed himself to imagine kissing another man. Sam's lips were firm against his, his body moved slowly over against him in a slow, maddening rhythm that set Dean's blood on fire.

As he continued to kiss the man under him, Sam found himself unable to keep still. Hips pressed and gyrated against Dean's. The longer they kissed, the more firmly he found himself pressing his now fully erect cock against the man's groin, his hips cantering up against Dean's. Tearing his lips from the man's, his breaths panting softly out against Dean's, Sam's throat convulsed as he swallowed hard. He pulled back, legs sliding upward so that he straddled the man's hips again. His hand lowered immediately to Dean's pants, fingers fumbling with the fastenings in an attempt to remove them, to get to the man's naked body beneath all the useless fabric.

"Sam," Dean complained when Sam pulled away. He wanted more of the kissing, more of the perfect rhythm they'd found together. He got up onto his elbows and watched Sam tug on his trousers. The sight wound him up so tight on the inside, he could barely breathe. The more Sam pulled and fumbled with the opening of his pants, the harder Dean got. So hard his trousers felt terribly uncomfortable. "You know this isn't proper?" He knew he had to stop Sam, that he was dragging this out only because it felt so good.

Sam lifted his gaze to Dean's face and leaned over him. With his hands still at the fastenings of Dean's pants he pressed his lips against Dean's and licked his way into his mouth with a low moan. They chased each other’s tongues, in a hit and miss kiss, only to once again tangle their tongues together when one caught the other. With a slight grimace from his struggles with the fastenings of Dean's pants, Sam grabbed each side and tugged hard at the material which finally gave way, ripping open, peeling apart like a banana skin. 

Sam pulled his head back as the man's pants came open and lowered his gaze to what lay beneath the material. His brow creased at finding only another layer of material that he had to get through. Lifting his gaze to Dean's, Sam gave an annoyed shriek then lowered his gaze, his eyes tightening in irritation before reaching for the waistband of the material and tugging at it. When it didn't budge Sam got even more annoyed and dipped his head, his mouth working at the cloth covering the man's cock. His teeth scraped softly against the tender flesh through the material as he gripped the cloth and yanked at it, his head lifting slightly and jerking to the side. 

Dean oscillated between shock at the sudden ripping of his pants, the need to laugh or at least chide Sam for screeching in his ear, the sudden fear when Sam's teeth clamped onto the material of his shorts and threatened to tear it off his body, and now, the incredible need to buck his hips and rub himself against the moist warmth of Sam's mouth seeping through the thin layer of cotton. Reaching down, he tangled his fingers in Sam's soft hair. "Oh God... oh God," he rasped, pushing Sam's head down, then guiltily releasing Sam's head. "No more!" he snapped, fighting the feeling building up inside him, making him feel like he was about to explode. When Sam looked up, Dean sat up and, putting his arms under Sam's, rolled them over so he was splayed on top of Sam. 

His gaze dropped to Sam's mouth. "Kiss." He brushed his mouth across Sam's, closed his eyes and came back to kiss him more firmly. He ran his hand up over Sam's muscular chest, a deep moan breaking from him when he felt Sam's nipple pebble against his palm. It made him kiss Sam harder, made him thrust his tongue deeper into the heat of Sam's mouth as he shifted restlessly over him. 

Wrapping his arms around Dean, Sam eagerly returned his kisses. His hands slid over Dean's back and down to his ass, each hand cupping an ass cheek the way that Dean had done to him, only Sam's touch was firmer and unafraid, unencumbered by what might be seen as improper. His fingers flexed, squeezing the firm mounds in his hands, a low moan tearing from deep in his throat. 

Releasing his hold, Sam slid his hand upward to the waist of Dean's under pants and pushed down at them in a vain attempt to remove them. When they didn't budge, Sam tore his mouth from Dean and looked disgruntledly up at him, his lips pressed first in an almost pout and then into a thin line of aggravation as he shoved and pushed at the material purposefully. 

"You want to get inside my pants." Just voicing those words had Dean blushing furiously. "I... I can't. This, it has to be enough," he explained, knowing Sam didn't understand. Gripping Sam's wrists, he pulled until Sam released the waistband of his underclothes. Instead, he brought Sam's arms up around his shoulders. "Dean kiss Sam," he said, pulling his glasses off, putting them to the side and lowering his mouth more firmly over Sam's, displaying a lot more confidence as he kissed him. He lightly thrust against Sam, grinding against him when he felt Sam push back. 

He'd barely tugged on Sam when they started to roll across the floor. His hands roamed over Sam, always more lightly over his ass, but exploring his sides, his chest and back, like he was studying the man's anatomy. He knew this memory would have to last him a lifetime and was memorizing how Sam felt, how he tasted, how he smelled. 

Sam allowed Dean to tug him into a roll just the way he'd seen so many monkeys rolling playfully with their mates across the grass. His hands moved up and down, investigating Dean's body, his touch less timid, much more sure and firm than Dean's. He cantered his hips up against Dean's, grinding his hard cock up against the man's through, seeking pressure even through the material of his own loincloth and the man's under pants. He gasped softly at the pleasurable sensations that coursed through him, burning through his veins. Heat shot due south causing his dick to twitch and pulse where it was trapped between their bodies.

Dean was so hard, his cock ached. The relief that came each time they thrust against each other was short-lived. Their kisses grew more heated, the breaks between them shorter, their gasps for air louder. The next time Dean tried to kiss Sam, he missed his mouth, his kiss landed on Sam's jaw. He kissed his way lower, rolling once more over him, then moving his mouth down over his chest in circles, each one a little tighter, a little closer to Sam's nipple. When the edge of his lip brushed Sam's nipple, Dean lifted his head and looked into Sam's eyes, before lowering his mouth and licking his nipple, twisting his tongue around it and allowing a low moan to escape him. 

Sam's neck arched back slightly as Dean kissed a path down to his chest. His head lifted, watching as Dean kissed his chest in a pattern that focused on his nipple. As the man's tongue teased his sensitive bud, Sam gasped in a breath, his head falling back, his back arching toward Dean's mouth. His arms tightened around Dean, fingertips digging into the bare skin of the man's back as low moans and softly grunted sighs broke from his throat. 

From Sam's reactions, Dean could tell what he was doing felt good. He licked Sam one more time, then opening his mouth, covered his nipple and sucked hard on it.

Sam's body jerked with shock as he gasped in an audible breath. One hand slipped up Dean's back, his fingers threading into the man's short locks while his other hand slid down to his ass, cupping an ass cheek and pressing the man's groin over his own. From under his lashes, he looked down his body at what Dean was doing to him to cause these sensations and feelings that Sam wasn't used to, at least not with someone else. He's learned long ago that if he touched himself, ran his hand along his length, that he could make himself feel good, but he’d never had anyone else make him feel this way, never been with anyone else. He'd seen the animals, his family when they would mate, but he hadn't totally understood, not until now.

Moaning, Dean rocked against Sam, and kept rocking. Each time he sucked on Sam's nipple, the way Sam jerked up against him sent shock waves through Dean's body. Moving to Sam's other nipple, he flicked his tongue over it. He wanted to play with it, play with Sam, the way he had before, but his body was burning so hot now, he could barely control his motions. Suddenly bringing his mouth over Sam's, he sucked his tongue into his mouth, rolling them over again and writhing, grinding his hips relentlessly, desperately up against Sam's. 

Sam gently pulled his hand out from under Dean the man and searched out every part of his body that he could reach, the flat of his hand running over Dean's chest and side, down to his hard abs and back up, fingertips teasing at his nipples before sliding up further up, hand cupping and caressing Dean’s cheek. He ground his hips back against Dean's, mimicking the man's movements, the intense sensations from rubbing against each other eliciting sounds of pleasure from him even as he dipped his head and nip-kissed the soft skin of Dean’s throat. 

When Dean tensed, Sam's head jerked up, his eyes intent on Dean’s face, his own hips moving erratically against Dean’s, his muscles bulging as he thrust harder and faster, a thin sheen of sweat coating his skin. He watched Dean’s face start to flush, noticed how harshly his breaths panted out from between parted lips, how his eye seemed to roll back. He saw Dean’s nipples harden into pebbles and goose bumps break out over his straining body. 

Dean suddenly opened his eyes wide, his lips parting in surprise. Sam's name barely made it past his lips before he found himself bucking uncontrollably against Sam, rubbing his cock against Sam's rock hard erection until heat lanced through him and his warm cum was spurting ... spreading across his drawers. The almost painful heat that curled low in his stomach started to slowly ease and he could breathe again.

Sam's fingers combed back into Dean's short cropped hair and curled into a fist as he leaned down over him and kissed his temple softly. Lifting his head, his lips found Dean's, kissing him tenderly before he slowly eased his hands away and sat back, straddling Dean's hips once again. 

Reaching for each side of his loincloth, Sam pushed it down as far as it could go, his hard cock instantly springing free of the confines of the material the instant it eased past his hips. Releasing the soft animal hide as it slipped free from his body, Sam reached with one hand for his aching erection, fingers curling around its length and stroking purposefully, while his other hand reached for Dean, sliding his palm across the man's flesh.

As if in a trance, Dean forgot all the right and proper things to say, all the arguments he had against the impropriety of showing someone your privates and of committing the most personal of sins in public. Instead, he watched in fascination as this man boldly and without any hint of shame masturbated over him. The fact that he was watching Dean, touching him, thinking about him as he did it had Dean growing hot all over again. 

His gaze lingered on Sam's red and swollen cock wrapped in Sam's large hand, his heart tumbling when Sam started to thrust his hips like he couldn't help it. Slowly, Dean looked up, his gaze sweeping over the hard planes of Sam's body gleaming by the firelight. When Sam's head tilted back and his lips parted, Dean felt as if he was right there with him, climbing towards release. He wanted to be part of it, not just a bystander. 

Wicked thoughts that he found impossible to ignore taunted him, tempted him, dared him to touch Sam the way Sam was touching himself. Holding his breath, Dean slowly reached out and closed his hand over Sam's, groaning when his fingers slipped between Sam's and glided up and down Sam's wet, hard flesh.

Feeling Dean's hand join his own, Sam's stomach muscles jerked and rippled and he lowered his head briefly, looking down at the man through passion slitted eyes before they slipped closed once more. His head lolled back, his hips thrusting harder as he sped up the movement of his hand, Dean's touch sending heat soaring through his veins and pooling low in his gut. He gasped in breaths and his eyes squeezed tightly closed as his head lifted and fell back again. His breaths became harsher, panted out from between parted lips until he grit his teeth causing his nostrils to flare. His balls drew up as his muscles tensed, his back arching wantonly. A low growled groan tore from his throat a moment before the first ribbon of cum shot from his cock, wetting their hands and splattering down over Dean's stomach. 

"Oh God..." Dean had never seen anyone come and the few pictures he'd seen did the moment no justice. The sounds Sam made, the intensity of the look in his eyes right before he'd shut them, like he had no control over them, over his own body, it was indescribably. Beautiful. Hot. And hotter still was the way Sam allowed his cum to spurt all over Dean's stomach. Like it was the most natural thing, nothing to be ashamed of. If their positions had been reversed, Dean would have thought to spare Sam this, but now... now he knew that the wild man was the one who had the right of it. He lifted his own hips, still riding the last waves of his own climax. "Kiss me, Sam," he whispered hoarsely, his eyes compelling the man to come to him.

Spent and sated, weakened and weary, Sam allowed his body to fall forward, catching his weight on his hands at each side of Dean's body near his shoulders. His eye lids were heavy from exertion as he gazed down at the man a moment before he dipped his head and pressed his lips to Dean's, tongue darting out the way the man had taught him, licking its way into Dean's mouth with a low soft moan. He moved a hand as they kissed, lifting it from the pallet and slipping it under the man's body before sitting back and dragging Dean up with him. He wrapped his other arm around the man, holding him tightly, possessively, lovingly.

The instant he'd felt Sam tug, Dean sat up and was enveloped in his arms so tight he could barely breathe. His legs sprawled out behind Sam, but there was no space between the rest of their bodies, between their chests. He caressed Sam's back as he sought another kiss, and another, unsure if he'd ever get his fill. This man had no idea what he'd done for him. How he'd made an impossible dream come true. How he'd made it beautiful rather than dirty, something to be hidden. 

When their mouths parted, he leaned his head down on Sam's shoulder and whispered, "I wish I could take you home with me. But it wouldn't be right," he said with a heavy heart, not even wanting to imagine Sam in constricting city clothes with his hair cut short and forced to hide his true desires.

* * *

It was near dawn when Dean woke to find Sam's arm around him, holding him close. A couple hours back, he'd tried to get up, but Sam would have none of it. Dean hadn't insisted. He'd been exhausted and decided to just enjoy the moment. Besides, realistically, he didn't think he could find his way around the jungle at night, and he didn't have any weapons on him for self-protection.

Reluctantly, he wiggled out of Sam's embrace. On his hands and knees, he searched for his spectacles and put them on. Then he looked at his wild man, bathed in the golden light of dawn, so damned handsome, so strong and gentle. "Good bye, Sam," he whispered, itching to kiss him one last time.

Slowly, he backed away and reached for the vine.


	4. Chapter 4

He'd thought he knew which way Sam had brought him, that he could use the sun to help him find his direction, but hours later, Dean wasn't so sure. He'd walked a long way, even found a stream that looked a lot like the one he'd fallen into with Sam and the python, but he hadn't found the tree where he'd left his book. So he trudged on, searching, unwilling to give up and knowing his father wouldn't give up on him either.

* 

Dean heard his name being called. He picked out his father's voice from among other the other voices shouting his name. 

"Here, over here!" he shouted as he re-knotted the fronts of his trousers together. His shirt was in ruins and flapped open, he'd fallen a couple of times and had mud all over himself, but otherwise, he was fine. 

John Winchester broke out of the jungle into the clearing, carrying his rifle on his back. Seeing his son, he took a few long strides and pulled him into his arms. "Boy, if I hadn't thought you were dead all this time, I'd kill you myself."

Dean gave a short laugh. "I'm fine. Water would be good."  
Some of the others arrived, and the way they were looking at him, Dean thought they had to be seeing a ghost. "I'm alright. Really."

"Dean?" Jo called, "Dean!" She rushed over to him and once John released his son, she threw her own arms around Dean's neck, holding onto him tightly and tucking her face into the crook of his neck. "We all thought we'd lost you," she murmured, her voice catching slightly.

"Well there ya go, Jo, see?" Bill boomed from behind them all. "He's alright, all’s well that ends well, eh, John?" 

John grunted and mumbled something or another under his breath as he nodded to Bill, though his gaze didn't meet the other man's. Looking back at his son, John reached out and clapped Dean on the shoulder.

"Tell me what happened," he directed.

Jo reluctantly released Dean though she immediately grabbed his arm and refused to let him go completely as they made their way more leisurely through the jungle to their camp. "You look a fright, Dean," Jo admonished, "Are you certain you're alright?"

Already people's expectations were crowding in on him. Dean wet his lips with his tongue. "Nothing that a quick wash and fresh clothes won't take care of. I'm fine."

"You'd best have more to say than that," John said, his dark eyes trained on his boy. "What happened to your clothes."

"I was, well I got to wandering--"

"We found your journal, we know that much," his father barked.

"Yes, well," pulling his spectacles off, Dean used it as an excuse to detangle himself from Jo and rub his eyes. "I ah... I heard what sounded like an animal in distress and went off to see what it was, if I could help."

John groaned. After all these years, he hadn't been able to teach his son that animals were to be shot and not coddled. His son could shoot a gun perfectly well, but tell him to shoot a gazelle and all of a sudden his bullets went all over the place and missed their target.

"I didn't find it, but something else found me." He felt all eyes turn to him. "I tangled with a python," he said with shrug, the effect possibly ruined by the sudden rise of color in his cheeks as he thought about how he'd indeed tangled with Sam's 'snake.' Quickly putting his glasses back on, he cleared his throat. "It dragged me into the water but I finally got free. Left some bruising, I guess, but I'm fine. I blacked out and was disoriented," he added, making sure to have an excuse for not having returned to camp. 

Jo gasped and her blue gaze darted between John and his son for what seemed to be a full minute before she flung herself at Dean, "Oh you poor thing!" She exclaimed, hugging him close. "You could have died. You could have died and I don't know what I'd do... what we'd tell your mother." 

John rolled his eyes at the feminine show of compassion over nothing more than a snake and a few bruises, course as green as his son was, it could have been a lizard and a hangnail and they might never have seen him again. He cleared his throat and pulled off the wide brimmed hat that kept the sun out of his face off his head, ran a hand through his dark, damp hair and replaced the hat. "Well, at least you're alright," he said, gruffly. "Tumba can see to helping you find a place to wash up and maybe we can see about unrolling your pack and at getting you a clean shirt."

"Jo... Ribs." Well, it might provide an excuse to prevent her from hugging him again, though he was grateful that she and the others cared so much about him. Grinning, he agreed, "I'd like that." And some clean drawers and a pair of trousers that would close. Course that was his secret. His and Sam's. For a brief second, he wondered what Sam would think when he found him gone. But he pushed the thoughts aside, it was no use worrying over things that could not be changed. They only ate at you more when you did that, and he was one who ought to know that best.

* * *

Camp had been set up a few hours ago, just as the sun descended behind the trees. They'd eaten well, from the provisions they'd brought and from the day's fresh kills. Some of the expeditioners were now sitting around a table, playing cards. Drinking. Their laughter was growing louder, as was their cursing. 

The four of them, John, Bill, Jo and Dean, sat on the ground around a fire in the center of camp. John and Bill were resting their backs against their packs and having a leisurely smoke while Jo snuggled up against Dean's side, her arm linked with his like she was never letting him go again. 

"I expect a grandchild soon after the two of you wed," Bill remarked as he looked over at the young couple. "A boy," he declared with a nod, "I'll take him on safaris."

Jo flashed her father a wide grin, a proper blush staining her cheeks. "I don't think that will be a problem, Father," she answered giggling and stealing a sly glance at Dean.

Feeling utterly miserable and trapped, Dean was contemplating telling them straight-out that it wasn't going to happen, when a familiar call pierced the air.

"AAAHHHH eeee ahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaa ahahaaaaaaaaaaaa, AAAHHHH eeee ahahaaaaaaaaaaa ahahaaaaaaaa, AAAHHHH eeee ahahahahaaaaaaaa ahahahaaaaaaaaa!!!!" Echoed through the jungle, much closer than ever before.

Gasping, Jo tightened her hold on Dean and looked at her father. "What is that?"

"That, my dear, is what the natives refer to as Tarzan, the ape man or the white ape. According to local legend, he was raised by apes and is the Lord of the jungle. When I catch him, I'm going to stuff and hang on my wall," he confidently announced. "He is the single greatest live prize to be had in all of Africa."

Pieces of the puzzle fell into place for Dean. That calling sound... it was... that was Sam. Sam who had monkeys for friends, who emulated them. The white ape. Harvelle was talking about Sam!

Dean abruptly stood up, breaking free of Jo's grasp and drawing the attention of everyone sitting around the fire. "The white ape, it's not an ape. You claimed it was a _monster_ ," Dean said, his hand slicing through the air and reflecting his outrage. 

"Well, he is. A monstrosity. I've heard tell that he can't speak and he's no better than an ape," Bill shrugged. "Don't get your drawers in a twist, I'd rather capture him alive and put him in a traveling show. That'd make me money, hand over fist," he predicted, sucking on his pipe.

"You can't do that. He's a person. You can't own a person, put him on display, do what you want--"

"Course I can. It happens all the time, boy. John, I thought your son had schooling. They didn't teach him much if they taught him how it should be and not so much about how it is."

There was laughter from the others. 

"I won't have anything to do with this," Dean declared, striding away from them, heading past the foreigners and over to the natives who were just now eating their meals. He crouched down next to Tumba and locked gazes with him. "The white ape, it's a person?" He demanded. 

Tumba was quiet for a long moment but then he gave a reluctant nod.

"Then why all the stories? About a giant ape. Why all the fear? What the hell's going on, tell me!"

Looking over his shoulder at the Harvelle party, Tumba turned back and put an arm around Dean's shoulder, drawing him near as if to tell him a secret. "The story, it brings hunters and expeditions. People want adventure. They come, we make money." He translated what he'd just told Dean to the rest of the men and they shook their heads, laughing.

"But Bill Harvelle knows."

Tumba shrugged and released Dean. "He's been back many times. Eventually, people find out. Why do you care?"

"I care because he is going to capture him, kill him or worse, take him to America and put him in a cage."

"You have a soft heart, not like them," Tumba pointed at the Harvelle party with his chin. "Tarzan can't be caught. The jungle turns on anyone who gets close to capturing him."

"What does that mean? Tumba?"

The man was clearly done speaking to him, since he went back to eating and openly ignored Dean's questions. Grumbling, Dean headed away from the group. He heard his father shouting at him to stay within the boundaries of the camp, but he couldn't stomach any of them right now.

Finding a lonely spot for himself and making sure there were no damned pythons hanging from trees, he leaned against one and stared into the jungle. Once in a while, he heard Sam's cries. What had once seemed scary now sounded mournful or beautiful to his ears. 

"Be safe Sam. Don't do anything foolish. Don't come around here anymore," he whispered, knowing that even if the wild, beautiful man could hear him, he wouldn't understand.

*

That night Dean dreamt. He dreamt of sounds, the sounds of the jungle, the trumpeting of an elephant and the strange way Sam spoke, the way he said _"Deean"_. He dreamt about how Sam tasted, clean, sweet like the fruits of the jungle, wild. The way he felt, hot, hard, playful and intense. He dreamt of the heat in his eyes and the strength of Sam's arms around him, the way it made him feel, protected, accepted, even 'cherished' wasn't too strong a word.

Dean had never hated the morning light as much as he hated it this day.

* * * 

If the heat had been bad before, it was worse now. Jo couldn't remember it ever being this bad and she had ventured out with her father on quite a few of his expeditions through the African jungles. Her mother claimed that she would never find a husband if she continued wearing men's clothing and engaging in manly activities and sports. Of course, her mother didn't know the things Jo knew about Dean Winchester. Not that she ever spoke of them out loud. She pretended to not see the way he acted, the way he looked at certain people not of the feminine persuasion, or the things he looked at in his books, but she was certain that he was one man who would be more turned on by her mannish ways than any of the other prospects within their circle. 

She removed the scarf from around her neck and unbuttoned the first few buttons of her shirt. Unconcerned about what others might say, after all who was going to be looking? Definitely not Dean, since she'd had to practically throw herself at him to get one chaste kiss. She sighed heavily and pushed those conflicting thoughts from her mind, deciding she would try to enjoy what may well be one of her last trips with her father. After all, a married woman could not just go traipsing off to Africa on a whim, especially once she had children, and Jo intended to have several.

A few minutes later, she lifted her head and listened to the rhythmic banging of drums coming from a distance. Her eyes squinted against the glare of the sun as she looked toward her father who was walking ahead of her. She watched as Tumba hurried up to her father, shaking his head and pointing away from the direction they were headed in, his anxious words carrying back to her. 

"We cannot go this way. You must turn around and go back," Tumba insisted. 

"I am not going back, why on earth..." Bill began only to have Tumba cut him off. 

"It is black magic," he said, a worried frown forming between his brows. "Evil things await us this way. We must go another way," he insisted. 

The drumming grew louder and faster.

By the time Dean joined the small group, there was a full blown argument in progress. From what he could tell, their guides wanted to find another route, but Harvelle had found tracks to suggest the ape man had gone north. Tumba's alternate route would take them through a gulch and they would lose at least a day. From the way Tumba and his men were swearing up and down that they would leave the expedition to its fate if they continued this trek, Dean couldn't believe they were pretending again in order to earn some more coin. This was too real, their protests too vehement. The drum beats were from a tribe that followed the way of witches, evil witches, and anyone who ran into them was dead from the moment of first contact. At least that's what the natives tried to tell Harvelle.

A couple of times, Dean tried to point out that Tumba knew better, that he wouldn't be suggesting a longer route that would make more work for the others who were carrying the expeditions gear for no reason. Course he was told to shut up and go read a book while those who knew what they were talking about hashed things out. 

Seeing he would get nowhere with them, Dean walked away and made sure he had a loaded pistol ready in case the headstrong Harvelle wanted got his way. All he could really do was hope that rifle and gun power they'd brought with them would scare the witch tribe off, assuming they weren't too badly outnumbered.

There was a strange rustle of leaves, like the wind blowing through them, and yet there wasn't a hint of a breeze to be had. The sound was too subtle to draw attention from anyone who wasn't intimately aware of the noises of the jungle and able to notice the slightest shifts. 

A few moments later, a long vine swung out of the tree line where the expeditioners and guides stood bickering and gesturing wildly at one another. A length of the vine was wrapped around Tarzan's hand and one leg. Just as the vine slowed a little, he reached out and wrapped his arm tight around Dean's waist and snatched him right off the ground, disappearing with him into the trees.

Dean's shout of surprise was echoed by those who saw him get plucked up and swung out of view. He grabbed hold of Sam and started telling him to set him down, only to have Sam grab another vine in mid-air and then they went swinging again, farther and farther away, traveling through the canopy of the jungle. "Whoa," he yelled when they went particularly fast and then dropped down. Instead of tumbling to the ground, he was still in the safety of Sam's arm and was pulled up against Sam.

The moment he was free of Sam, he pointed at him. " _You_ have got to quit doing that. Picking me up and putting me down like I'm some baggage or something." 

Sam stepped up to Dean and cupped the side of his face, ignoring the man's upset. He used the heel of his hand and his thumb to tilt Dean's head up slightly as he leaned in. "Kiss Deean," he murmured before slanting his mouth over Dean's, effectively ending any and all protests.

The way Sam said his name always tugged at him and God, he'd been dreaming about kissing the man and here they were. Dean knew he shouldn't let Sam get away with this, that there were so many reasons to make him stop and take him back right now, but he simply couldn't resist. He kissed Sam back with everything he had, his tongue tangling with Sam's, chasing and being chased. His heart was beating as loud and fast as the drums, his body straining to get closer, pressing against Sam. By the time he ran out of breath and had to take a step back, his mind was reeling, and not only because he needed air.

"'Kiss Dean'," he nodded, keenly aware that Sam's hand was still pressed against his cheek and that he could drag him close once more. "How about 'listen to Dean'? Think you can do that?"

Sam tilted his head to the side, his brow creasing. He didn't know the things Dean was saying, but it didn't matter, they were together again and that was all that was important. He'd tracked Dean since the morning he'd awoken to find the man gone and had been following the group that he traveled with ever since. 

He pulled his hand away from Dean's cheek and wrapped both of his arms around him, running his hands over Dean's back and lower, cupping his ass with both hands and squeezing gently as he dipped his head and moved his mouth along Dean's neck in small nip-kisses, the way he had back at the tree house. Recalling how much better it had been with Dean's skin bare of his clothing, Sam lifted his hand and fumbled with the fastenings of Dean's shirt. 

"Oh God..." Dean grit his teeth, if only to prevent a moan from slipping a past his lips. "Uh uh, no. Sam no! No tearing my shirt," he said, his hands going to grab Sam's, stopping him. He'd stopped wearing a tie, and had even left the first button undone, which had drawn looks from his father who knew him too well. "No seriously. These are 'buttons.' Look," he undid one more to show Sam, then re-buttoned it. 

Sam's brow knitted as he watched Dean slide the tiny pearl bead out through the slice in the cloth, opening the shirt further then push it back, closing it back up. His eyes narrowed in frustration when Dean left it like that, which was the opposite of what Sam had been trying to do. He gave a sharp shriek and gently smacked Dean's hands away, reaching for the buttons and fiddling with them for a few minutes. When he finally managed to get one halfway through the small slit, it stuck in the fabric. When he couldn't pull it through, he shrieked at the shirt and grit his teeth as his hands curled into tight fists around the material. Yanking at the fabric, he ripped it wide open, nearly shredding the material as if to show the cloth that he was in charge. 

Dean's shirt slipped completely off of him, only the tucked in portion kept the ripped material from pooling on the ground at his feet. Once the defiant cloth was out of the way, Sam smoothed his hands lustfully over Dean's chest. He bent slightly to the side and dipped his head, capturing one of Dean's nipples between his lips, sucking it into his mouth while his hands slid upward, gripping Dean's shoulders. He slowly guided the man backward and up against a large tree, pressing Dean's back up against it while he sucked at his nipple, teasing it into a hard nub.

"No, no, noooo," Dean moaned, pushing his head back against the trunk and biting his lip, knowing that what he was saying sounded incredibly like a 'yes.' "S... Sam," he stuttered, hardly able to put two words together when Sam so easily made his body pulse with desire. Reaching out, he vowed to push Sam away, but once his hands ghosted over Sam's broad shoulders, they seemed to have a mind of their own, slipping down his smooth back, loving how his muscles shifted under his palms. "This... it's not an ideal way to have a discussion. Which..." A sharp nip had his stomach clenching and robbed him of words for a split second. "Which... yeah, that's what we need. You... you listening?" 

Releasing Dean's nipple, Sam lifted his head, his eyes intent on the man's a moment before they fluttered closed as he leaned in and his mouth slanted over Dean's once again in a languid kiss. He caressed Dean, his hands gliding across every inch of warm, bare skin, that he could touch, and lower, over areas that were hidden underneath clothing.

This wasn't a discussion. It was a seduction, and Dean was powerless to stop it. Every touch, every kiss had him burning for more. He couldn't fight this, no way he could fight this. He didn't want to, even if he should.

Sam nipped and sucked at Dean's lips as he ended the kiss, his breaths panting softly against the man's mouth as he moved his hands in between them and tugged at the opening of Dean's pants. Unable to figure out how to unfasten them, Sam lowered his gaze as his brow furrowed in aggravation. He lowered down onto one knee and then the other, kneeling in front of Dean, his hands still at the fastenings of the man's pants, struggling with getting them open. One of Sam's hands slid down, across Dean's cock and balls then back up and then down again, while he kept one hand up at the waistband, slowly working open the tie. He lifted his gaze to Dean's face as he continued to rub him through his pants and work the tightly bound tie open at the waistband. "Deean... Sam's," he rasped softly. 

Between the fumbling touches and the bold caresses, Dean's blood was on fire. Just one touch, in a place he'd never been touched before, had his cock filling and thickening. Weak kneed, he was glad for the support of the tree behind him. His hands were in Sam's hair, curling around the soft strands, and he was too far gone to even care about whether his pants survived the man's efforts to peel them off, when Sam called him _his_. 

Dean's heart skipped a beat. He looked down and his eyes locked with Sam's, unable to look away from the intensity of his gaze. The words were so simple, spoken so matter-of-factly as if there was only one truth, as if dozens of reasons ... of layers upon layers of complex reasons created by society, by culture, by Dean's world, did not exist or could simply be cut through, pushed aside, and ignored. "In another time, another place, perhaps," he finally answered, his heart swelling with both joy, at hearing words that made him feel like he belonged, and sorrow, because this day, this time for them would end all too soon. 

_If not here and now, then where and when?_ Dean looked away and closed his eyes, his lips pressing together. 

Sam leaned in, leaned his forehead against Dean's lower stomach just above his groin. He drew in a deep breath, taking in the musky scent of the man's arousal before pressing his puckered lips against the line of Dean's cock through his pants and softly kissing him there. With another deep breath, Sam lifted his head and looked back up at Dean as his fingers worked open the tie then reached for the waistband of Dean's slacks. Lowering his gaze to what he was doing, Sam pulled them down Dean's hips and thighs, allowing them to pool at the man's knees. He reached back up then and fumbled with the fastenings of the next layer of cloth separating him from Dean. He worked at the tie there for a long moment before thankfully he was able to slip the knot open and tug the fabric apart. He tugged at the short plants, pulling them down Dean's hips and watching intently as his dick sprang free of the confinement. 

Eyes widening at the press of Sam's lips over his cock, Dean looked down at him, ashamed that he wasn't stopping him, that he was giving in to these dark needs. Licking his lips, he met Sam's soft gaze, biting his lower lip when Sam started to tug on his drawers. He was sure Sam wouldn't get them open, and he was frozen by the sight of him trying, by the feelings coursing through him at the possibilities. And then Sam had him free, and Dean's stomach seemed to drop. "Ah... you probably shouldn't look at me like that," he whispered, a little shyly. He slipped his hands over Sam's eyes, covering them. "It's not even dark. Maybe... maybe you should come up here and kiss me." That, he'd gotten used to. 

Sam reached for Dean's wrists, pulling his hands away from his eyes and tugging the man down to the ground with him. Once Dean was on his knees, Sam released his wrists and wrapped an arm around his middle as he leaned in and slanted his mouth over the man's, kissing him hungrily while easing him back against the ground.

Once Sam had Dean laying down, he pulled his arm out from around him and moved to kneel over him, hands planted against the ground at each side of the man's shoulders. He moved one leg, using his knee to coax Dean's legs apart while continuing to kiss him, distract him from what he was doing.

Somewhere between the time he'd been dragged to the ground and now, Dean went from being shy to being desperate and hungry for what Sam offered him. He'd never been touched so much, manhandled in a way that inflamed him. With Sam's mouth over his, kissing him so wildly, making him writhe and want more, Dean almost stopped caring that it was daylight, that they weren't hidden, that they could be found out. All of that came second to the heat and desire coursing through him for this wild man who seemed to be just as fascinated by him as Dean was with Sam.

Dean tugged on Sam's shoulders, wanting to feel his weight over him. He shifted, raising his hips some, moaning when he felt Sam's thigh press against him. "Sammy," he whispered hotly against Sam's lips, trying to draw him down again. 

Sam rocked his thigh against Dean's hard length then pulled back and reached for one of the man's shoulder's tugging on him in an attempt to roll him over on his stomach. When Dean didn't seem to understand, Sam reached down between them with his free hand and wrapped it around Dean's length, giving it a firm yet gentle squeeze as he dipped his head, pressing his lips to the corner of the man's mouth.

"Deean... Sam's..." he rasped thickly. 

Dean was a little perplexed at Sam's refusal to lay on top of him but before he could insist, Sam changed things up and it felt like the ground fell away from under his feet. Moaning into Sam's mouth, he thrust into Sam's large hand, like he couldn't help himself, like it didn't matter that this was highly improper. All that mattered was his cock was aching and Sam was both making it better and worse. 

Sam's hand slid along the hard length of Dean's dick as his mouth moved over Dean's, kissing him and slipping his tongue in between the man's lips, sliding it against Dean's. When he slowly pulled his tongue back and his head up, he gazed passionately down at Dean for a moment before his hand released the man's cock and he tugged harder at Dean's shoulder, effectively rolling him over.

"Whoa my..." Dean's spectacles tumbled off his nose and rolled away.

With Dean on his stomach on the ground, Sam wedged both of his legs in between the man's and leaned over him as he tugged down his own loincloth. When he leaned in, his hard dick slid along the cleft of Dean's ass, drawing a wanton groan from deep in Sam's throat. He thrust his cock up against Dean's ass, the tip catching at the man's tightly puckered hole and pushing against it briefly. Sam reached down with one hand and grasped his dick, aligning the blunt tip up with Dean's hole the way he'd seen it done before between the gorillas. "Deean Sam's," he grunted softly.

Splayed on the ground under Sam, trapped by his large heavy body and feeling his large cock against his hole, uncertainty washed over Dean. He felt crowded and vulnerable, his heart racing with a mixture of fear and excitement. He knew what this was, had dreamt this, but had never thought about actually doing anything like this. His fingers dug into the dirt and leaves as he lifted himself up and turned his head, unsure whether to tell Sam to get off him or to beg him to go on. 

"I don't know... I haven't ever..." Feeling Sam's rock hard cock press against him, rub against his hole, Dean felt himself quiver. His stomach clenched with need just at the thought of how much Sam needed him. His gaze locked with Sam's, a long moment passing with neither of them taking any action. Dean gave a slow nod and dropped his head, looking down at the ground and bracing.

Sam leaned in and nuzzled his face against the crook of Dean's neck and shoulder, a soft whimper leaving him as he ran the head of his dick up against the man's hole. The teasing gesture smeared his precome over the tightly puckered skin, wetting it before he began to push his dick in. Low grunted sounds broke from his throat and his eyes squeezed closed, his face contorting into an almost pained expression as he struggled to push his way deeper inside Dean's tight heat. Pulling back so he was almost kneeling, Sam lifted his hand off the ground and wrapped around Dean's waist, his fingertips digging lustfully into Dean's flesh as he pulled the man back against his body and his hips cantered forward, pushing his cock deeper. 

"Ngh..." Instinct made Dean clench his muscles tight around Sam's tip, his eyes momentarily blinded by the pain of the invasion. He clenched his teeth, vowing he'd be able to take this, take Sam inside even if it killed him. His body's attempt to prevent further penetration seemed to excite Sam. The way he pulled at him and pushed harder took Dean's breath away. The burning increased, but Dean thought about how Sam must be feeling, how much he wanted to be all the way inside him, how his movements were getting a little frantic, a little uncontrolled. The sounds coming from Sam sounded just as desperate, somehow winding Dean up and starting to get him aroused again. 

He needed to relax, needed to let this happen. Instinctively, Dean knew this. He took a couple of hot breaths and forced himself to loosen his muscles then started to rock back against Sam's hips, a little harder each time, panting slightly as Sam's cock moved deeper. "Fucking hurts. Damn... sorry," Dean muttered, screwing his eyes shut. "Touch me." When there was no reaction, he impatiently grabbed Sam's wrist, pulling his hand off his hip and dragging it down to his cock. "Touch me," he demanded, knowing the only way he was getting through this was if he was distracted.

Sam was a little taken aback when Dean yanked his hand down and brought it over his cock. His brow furrowed in confusion as he felt how much Dean's erection had dwindled, not understanding what had happened. He cupped Dean, then shifted his hand, wrapping it around his dick and stroking his fist along Dean's length. He continued to push his own cock inside Dean, past the first ring of muscle, the tightness that clenched around him eliciting deep guttural groans and harshly panted breath. Incoherent sounds bubbled from his throat, words that had no meaning to a human; words of love, of desire, of possession and of forever.

"Better, yeah," Dean breathed, concentrating on the intense sensations vibrating through him at each slide of Sam's fist. The pain was still there, stronger when Sam pushed deeper inside him. Dean's world blurred, but he was kept grounded by Sam's hand still moving over him, and by the sound of Sam's voice, seeming to tell him it would be alright, that it would get better, that they'd soar again like they had the other night. 

Dean felt Sam's mouth at his throat, kissing him, whispering and shouting. _Deean ... Sam's_. The next time Sam thrust his hips, Dean knew this was a claiming. Sam was showing him who he belonged to. Physically proving his words. "Yes," Dean whispered, suddenly feverish and bumping back against Sam's hips, rocking back, groaning when Sam bucked into him. "It's alright... just do it, just--" A flash of heat lanced through Dean, leaving him breathless and more aroused than he'd ever been. Even his nipples had tightened into pebbles without being touched. 

The sudden clenching of Dean's muscles around him sent unexpected pleasure soaring through Sam's veins. His fingertips dug into the Dean's flesh and he thrust his hips hard, pushing until he was balls deep inside this man, _his_ man, his _mate_. Dean's strangled cry had Sam holding stock still, determined to allow Dean to make the call as to when they would move again. He moved his hand up from Dean's waist to his chest, cradling him almost worshipfully as he dipped his head and nuzzled Dean's neck. He kissed his way up to Dean's ear, nuzzled it and then sucked his ear lobe into his mouth. _Mine_

When Sam slammed into him all the way, Dean thought he'd been torn in half. The pain, the burn was so strong that it was a wonder he hadn't shouted at the top of his lungs. Now, neither of them moved. It was like the calm before a storm. He was skittish, unsure, until Sam started to touch him, to kiss his throat and his ear, to handle him so gently it made him forget the pain, made him believe again in the pleasures this man could give him. 

As Sam's hand moved over his length, Dean's urge to thrust into his hand started to build, though that would mean he'd be moving against Sam's cock. He was afraid of the pain, but his need for pleasure grew stronger and stronger. Moaning softly, Dean rocked lightly, experimentally, thrusting into Sam's hand and back, against Sam's cock deep in his ass. The pain wasn't unbearable, not at all. He moved a little harder, moaning as thoughts of Sam thrusting into him wound him up. He started to clench and release his muscles around Sam's cock, turning his head and seeking Sam's mouth when he felt Sam pulse inside him. 

A soft whimper broke from Dean, a need, a plea for more, and then he was pushing back against Sam harder, faster, reaching behind him with one hand, searching for any part of Sam he could grab onto, pulling on him desperately, sounding as delirious as Sam sounded with his unintelligible words.

A low moan tore from Sam's throat. Enveloped in Dean's tight heat, his dick pulsed needily. He moved his hips in counter motion to Dean's and gasped sharply at the intense pleasure that shot through him and had his cock twitching and throbbing, his nipples pebbling. He did his best to be gentle, uncertain how to be any more tender. Hurting Dean was the last thing Sam wanted to do. From the day that he'd found Dean and felt the electricity between them, he'd known Dean belonged to him, that Dean was his mate, and now, now he was simply making Dean his in body, as well as in heart and in spirit.

His head rolled back and his lips parted, his breaths coming out in harsh pants and grunts. "Deean..." he groaned as he squeezed his eyes closed. When he forced his eyes open, Sam saw Dean looking back at him needily. He leaned forward, allowing Dean to take what he wanted, allowing Dean to slant his mouth over his own, a low groan tumbling from his lips only to be eaten up in the kiss. His hand slid up from Dean's chest, along his shoulder and up higher, his fingers threading into the short strands of Dean's hair, fingertips digging into Dean's scalp. Sam continued to be 

"Sam," Dean answered, kissing him back as they moved together. They were going slowly, barely moving. Knowing how difficult it was for himself to keep from thrusting harder into Sam's hand, he could imagine how difficult it had to be for Sam to hold back. The press of Sam's powerful body behind him, the iron grip of Sam's arm around him, holding him, made Dean very aware that if Sam wanted, he could succumb to his lust and fuck him hard right now, before Dean was ready. But he wasn't doing that. Even through he'd grown up in the wild. Even if it would be easier and more pleasurable for him to slake his lust, Sam was waiting and in his way, wooing him. Dean recognized that. And it humbled him.

A little at a time, Dean started to move faster, grinding his ass against Sam's hips, drawing him deeper inside. Unable to stay in this position too long, he broke the kiss and put his hands flat on the ground, pushing himself up so he was on his hands and knees. He felt Sam's body curl over his own, felt his muscled chest scrape against his back. His skin was sensitive all over and the slight touch had him moaning. He looked back and smiled. "Take me. I want it. Want you," he said, encouraging Sam by pulling away so Sam was partly out of him, then pushing back.

When Dean shifted onto his hands and knees, Sam's hand slipped from him to brace against the ground, while he caressed Dean's side with the other. In this new position, he found he had more freedom to move. He started to move his hips harder, faster, thrusting his cock in and out of Dean's ass, his pleasure building.

Dean stretched forward, his eyes slipping closed as Sam's hands roved over him like he treasured him. As Sam started to thrust harder, Dean lowered his head and strained to push back against him, seeking, wanting to feel that strange, elusive sensation he'd gotten at taste of. "Harder," he said, his voice thick. "Want... want..." but he didn't know exactly what it was that he wanted, how to describe it, and even if he could put it to words, Sam would never understand him. It didn't stop him from pleading and moving with more desperation, trying to recapture the sensation.

Sam thrust his hips harder and stroked his fist faster along Dean's length, the edge of his thumb catching at the sensitive underside of Dean's cock. With each hard thrust into Dean, Sam felt as though his dick was bottoming out with no more room to move. The way Dean's muscles clenched and releases around his dick over and over, it was as though Dean was trying to milk him of his seed. Low moans and softly grunted groans repeatedly broke from his throat as they moved together. 

Panting, lost in the sensations washing over him, Dean lost track of time. He listened to Sam's groans, focused on them, barely aware he was echoing him. And then it happened again, a flare of heat shot through him. His entire body vibrated, a thick groan escaping him. "Sam... Sam... Sam," Dean chanted his name, pushing back harder, crouching lower on his front arms until he got the right angle and each time Sam thrust, he touched him in that place. "Ngh... good," he cried out, "more."

Sam gasped and groaned, his body breaking out in a fine sheen of sweat, his longish hair clinging in damp strands to his face and neck as sweat beaded his brow. His breaths panted out harshly against the back of Dean's neck and his muscles tightened as he strained against Dean, arching and bucking harder when heat pooled low in his gut. His slid his hand up from Dean's to his nipples, teasing one and then the other into tight, hard nubs. He dipped his head and brushed his mouth across the nape of Dean's neck, scraped his teeth across the sensitive skin.

Sam might not understand his words but he had to have understood what Dean wanted. Or maybe he understood what Dean needed even better than Dean understood it. That was the only explanation Dean had for how perfectly in tune the man was with his needs. The way Sam's calloused hand moved over his cock, stopping to squeeze him every once in a while. The way he paid attention to the rest of him, touching him, scraping his blunt nails across his over-sensitized flesh, kissing and nibbling on his throat. Between that, and the way Sam sped up, the way he was fucking him like he owned him, it was almost too much for Dean. He felt his balls draw up tight and managed to give a choked warning and then he was shouting Sam's name, over and over as ropes of cum shot from him. Crouching lower, he raised his ass higher, grinding it against Sam, trying to pull him over the edge with him.

Sam's back arched as his hips moved faster. He panted and strained, muscles tightening and tensing, his face flushing, sweat dripping down from his temples to fall like drops of rain against Dean's back. Sam cried out a deep, guttural groan, his eyes squeezing tightly closed when Dean's ass clamped down hard on his cock, so hard that he was nearly certain Dean's had broken him into two. His thrusts stuttered and stalled until Dean's muscles relaxed just enough to allow him to move again, to thrust hard and fast until his own cries of pleasure matched and echoed Dean's. Suddenly, his balls drew up tight against his body and with a low grunted growl, Sam began to come hard and hot, filling Dean's ass. 

Dean kept rocking slowly even when Sam went stock still. He felt the warm liquid slide down the back of his leg, and he wanted more, wanted every last drop, so he tightened and released his muscles, milking Sam, giving soft moans as emotions and sensations continued to wash over him. "Good. So good, Sam," he whispered, rocking a few more times before he collapsed down onto the ground, the side of his face cradled by soft grass, leaves and earth. 

As he felt Sam withdraw from is body, Dean closed his eyes, trying to commit the sensation to memory. It would have to last a lifetime, and not just because once he was home it was unlikely he'd ever have sex again, but also because even if he did, he didn't think it could ever be with someone as special as Sam. 

Sam eased himself down half on top of Dean, but mostly next to him. He smoothed a hand down along his back and back up to the nape of his neck, toying gently with the fine hairs there. "Deean Sam's," he rasped softly. 

"That's one helluva line," Dean smiled, enjoying the caresses. Slowly, he rolled over to face Sam. "And if you hadn't said it, I don't know that we would have done this." 

Leaning over Sam, Dean brought his mouth over Sam's, kissing him passionately, pushing his tongue inside and making love to his mouth, the way Sam had made love to him. He ran his hand down Sam's side, lingering at the concave near his hip before moving behind him and lower, over his firm ass right above where his loin cloth still encircled him just past his hips. He was at peace in Sam's arms, he felt at home. The thought of leaving and going back to his people, he couldn't face it just yet, so he shoved it down and slowly crawled over Sam, exploring his body with his hands. 

Sam frowned in confusion at Dean's words, but his gaze roamed adoringly over Dean's features, a soft smile teasing Sam's lips. A part of him for the first time wishing that he could understand the language that the expeditioners spoke, another part of him wishing that his Dean could understand him. Yet when Dean kissed his lips, it was the one language that the two had in common and that the ape man understood completely. He returned his mate's kisses with equal vigor, arms wrapping securely around Dean, holding him close, one hand slipping upward, his fingers threading into the short spikes of Dean's hair. 

After they ran out of breath and the kiss ended, Sam ran his hands down Dean's back, lightly grasping his hips as he closed his eyes with a contented sigh and allowed Dean to explore his body.

After tracing the contours Sam's face with is fingers, kissing his cheeks and brushing his mouth along his strong jaw line, Dean moved lower. He dragged his fingertips down the column of Sam's neck and caressed his chest, following the lines of his muscles, and noticing the way Sam tensed a little, and the way his lips curled upwards. "Ticklish, huh?" Now that he knew, Dean made sure to occasionally use his blunt nails, especially when he stroked the wild man's sides, laughing out loud when Sam's reaction was stronger. 

"Tickle." He dug his fingers into Sam's side. "Dean tickle Sam."

When Dean's touches went from pleasurable to a sensation that caused his body to jerk and jump uncontrollably, Sam's eyes shot open. The feeling wasn't bad but it was no longer one that had him relaxing and floating in the same state of sated bliss as before. Instead it had him wanting to laugh uncontrollable and to try to wiggle away from those teasing fingers. He reached for Dean's wrists, tugging them away from his body as he wiggled and thrashed lightly beneath Dean, a bubble of laughter breaking from his throat. He rolled Dean over onto his back and tried to mimic his actions, moving his fingertips against Dean's sides, poking his ribs slightly. 

"No! No tickling Dean," Dean shouted, trying to get away, and choking on his laughter. "No," he shook his head. "Stop, Sam." Yeah, he couldn't take what he could dish out and that was a fact. Closing both his arms and his legs around Sam so he couldn't move, Dean repeated more sternly. "No tickling Dean." 

They stared into each others' eyes for a long moment, and then he rolled them over so he was on top again. "Tickle Sam, now that's okay." As he started to do just that, he also brought his mouth down over Sam's, kissing him hard. His hands dropped away from Sam's body to cup his face on both sides he moved his mouth over Sam's. He didn't want to go back. He knew he had to. It hurt too much to think about it, so he chose to feel... to drown in his feelings for Sam.

Sam's body jerked when Dean started to tickle him again only to relax with a sighed breath that fanned into the man's mouth as they kissed again. He wrapped his arms back around Dean, molding his body tight against his own and groaning as his hips cantered upward, grinding against Dean's in invitation. "Deean Sam's," he murmured huskily against Dean's lips.

Dean's body responded immediately, though he knew he really should be heading back. They'd be worried out of their minds about him back at the camp and here he was selfishly stealing a little time for himself. "You're hard again," he whispered, pushing his leg between Sam's and pressing down, giving him the pressure he needed. "I can't take you again. Not if I want to walk straight anyway," he muttered. "This'll have to do. And we've got to be quick." 

He moved hard and fast over Sam, rubbing his own cock against Sam's hard bare thigh, and giving him the same pleasure by rocking his own thigh and hips against Sam's cock. He ignored Sam's attempts to slow him, to go at a more leisurely pace. "That's it, that's it," he whispered, hearing Sam's harsh breaths get shorter and shorter, "now," he demanded, his back arching as he came hard against Sam and felt their combined cum spreading between their bodies. 

'Course he wanted to lie there for a while, but afraid he'd be seduced into staying even longer, so he forced himself to sit up. "Pass me my clothes." He pointed. "Dean's clothes." 

Sam blinked up at Dean, brow creasing in confusion as to what his love's hurry was and uncertain what it was that he was saying. He shook his head and reached for Dean, tugging him back down into his arms and nuzzling up against him. "Deean Sam's," he sighed softly allowing his eyes to slip closed. 

"Yeah. Here, in paradise, in a dream world. But in the real world," Dean shook his head and gently kissed Sam, but determinedly rolled off him and reached for his things. "Clothes," he said, looking over his shoulder at Sam and willing him to open his eyes. "Dean's putting clothes on," he emphasized the word 'clothes' as he spoke. First he used his shirt to clean his glasses off and put them on. Then he used his drawers to clean himself off, smiling a little sadly. "You have to take me back."

Sam's brows knitted. Bracing a hand on the ground, he slowly sat up with one leg bent and the other still stretched out in front of him. Head tilted to one side, he watched as Dean wrapped himself up in the material that he had peeled off him a short while ago. He hadn't even entertained the idea that perhaps he would be rejected, it wasn't something one saw often amongst the animals. He remembered the light haired female that Dean traveled with and how she tended to cling to him. 

A wild, possessive streak, shot through Sam and he quickly pulled to his feet and tugged up his loincloth. He snatched hold of one of Dean's wrists and jerked him around to face him. His lip curled and a threatening snarl broke from his throat the same way he had seen the alpha ape snarl whenever any other ape threatened his mate or tried to steal her away. "Deean Sam's!" He barked adamantly. 

If he hadn't been in Sam's company several times already, Dean might have been scared. Instead, he was only a little shocked by the unexpected anger from Sam. "You bet. Deean Sam's, and Dean will probably not be anyone else's, ever," he said gently, stroking Sam's face with his free hand. "But I have to go back," he nodded in the direction they'd come from. "Family." 

He could see that Sam didn't understand. Slowly, he pulled Sam's hand off his wrist. "Mother, father, child... baby," he made a cradling motion with his hands. Where was a family of animals when you needed something to point to? "Dean's family." Still watching Sam's face, he started buttoning his shirt, using at least the buttons that had survived Sam. "Take Dean back to family."

Sam watched the motions that Dean made and the one that he understood tore at his heart the most. _Baby_. Dean had a baby. He took a step back from Dean, his eyes still intent on his face though his own no longer showed love and adoration for the man but were instead hard and as cold as ice. He gave a curt nod and pulling his loin cloth up, turned away from Dean, reached for a low hanging vine and swung up into the trees. 

After he distanced himself from Dean, Sam paused and looked down from his perch high up in the trees for a long moment before he grabbed another vine and swung away. He continued swinging from vine to vine, leaving behind the man he loved, leaving him there in the jungle, alone. 

"Sam. You're just gonna leave me here?" Dean stared in the direction Sam had gone. "Okay," he whispered. Without a common language, he couldn't explain any better why he had to leave. Or that he wished he could stay. He'd had to choke on a lot of things in his life, and this was another one of them. 

Swallowing over the painful lump in his throat, Dean looked up at the sun. He pulled his pocket watch out and made some directional calculations. He would be heading for the areas of the jungle Tumba had warned them about, but it was the last place his expedition had been at and that's where they'd be looking for him. It was his best bet for survival.


	5. Chapter 5

Hours later, Dean was crouched and drinking from a clear spring when he heard footsteps and a rustling from behind him. Letting the water run through his fingers and quickly standing and turning around, he saw it was his dad and Bill Harvelle. "I'm alright, he didn't harm me." 

Something about the way the two men were looking at him made him uneasy. Straightening his clothes as much as he was able, he started to walk toward them. 

Harvelle lifted a brow and glanced at John before returning his attention to Dean. "No, I don't suppose he did," he said before clearing his throat.

John made a sound of disgust and shook his head as he turned away from Dean, staring off toward where Jo and the others waited for them. "Clean yourself up so no one else can figure out what went on," John mumbled stiffly, refusing to look at Dean.

"One thing's for sure, now I know how to get that son of a bitch," Harvelle snorted, eying Dean. "He wants you... all I gotta do is dangle the prize," he drawled.

"What are you talking about?" It couldn't be that obvious, thought Dean. And yet, the feelings of guilt that were stirred up each time he looked at his father’s expression told him otherwise. He wiped his sleeve over his wet face and watched his father, afraid the man would never look at him again. Was he about to be disowned? 

As the silence stretched, Dean’s gut clenched into knots and he couldn’t bear it. “Don’t understand,” he licked his lips and looked down at the ground. “Dad?”

"Bill's gonna use you as bait to capture that creature," John bluntly stated, briefly eyeing his son, and then looking at a few of the natives hired by Harvelle who were approaching. "Don't do anything stupid. Don't... fight," he said, knowing he had his son's complete attention. Before his son had the chance to question him, the natives rounded on Dean and grabbed each of his arms, pulling them behind his body. 

"And before you whine about it, keep in mind that Bill at least isn't gonna shoot him on sight the way he deserves," John growled, before turning and walking away, his shoulders pulled back, his back straight and unbending.

"Dad. Dad!" Dean shouted as he tried to pull away, but the men kept their grip on him and started to force him to walk. "Let me go, dammit!" His struggles were in vain. "You have no right to do this," he shouted at Harvelle as they marched past the man. Turning his head, he shouted again, "You _can't_ do this!"

Bill shook his head with disgust as he watched Dean being pulled away. "That's where you're wrong, I have every right to do it. Your father has given his blessing and, as for the ape man, he has no rights, he's mine," he said, following behind the trio.

Once Dean was escorted to the camp, he was thrown down on the ground, then someone's knee was jammed hard against his back and neck, making it impossible for him to break free as hands were bound tight behind his back. His shouts were ignored and someone grabbed the collar of his shirt and roughly tugged him up onto his feet. 

He cursed as he was shoved and dragged through the camp. The expressions on the faces of the other expeditioners were easy to read and Dean could only imagine the gossip passing between their lips.

As he staggered forward, he noticed Jo watching him. For an instance, he thought she would intervene with her father, but instead, she looked him up and down, found him lacking or beneath her, and strode away, leaving him to his fate. 

Harvelle snapped an order and suddenly Dean was being shoved back and forth between the two natives that had dragged him to camp. Another barked order from Harvelle had them getting rougher, slapping and punching him. When he fell to the ground, they kicked him and then yanked him back up to his feet, only to start beating him again. 

"Sonova..." Dean hadn't taken them seriously, not really. He hadn't believed his dad would go through with something like this, allow it. Now he wondered whether someone had actually seen him give in to temptation, seen him with Sam. Or maybe it really was _that_ obvious that he'd had relations with Sam. He couldn't think of any other reason Jo would turn away like that. It hurt that they all thought less of him, so much so that even his dad allowed him to be beaten and mistreated. 

It hurt bad, ripped him up on the inside. But if they thought he was taking this laying down, then they had another think coming. 

Suddenly, Dean started to struggle with more purpose and determination. He might be a man of peace, someone who preferred a library to a hunting field, but that didn't mean he hadn't taken boxing and wrestling up at university. If only he’d realized right from the start that this was no mistake, no joke, that his father and Harvelle intended to go through with something horrible. Then, these men would have had much more trouble tying him down to begin with. Now, he used every ounce of strength he had, kicking and head butting his captors, trying to get away from them, despite the ample number of hands only too willing to shove him back into the circle. 

In the end, they took his struggles as an excuse to hold him down and administer a beating like he'd never expected. Then they tied him to the stump of a tree and left him to his own devices.

Time stopped. Dean felt wetness collect in his nostril, form thick droplets and then splash down onto his partially bare chest. His buttons were gone, his shirt was torn and stained with his blood. His lip was throbbing and no doubt swelling but it was nothing compared to the pain in his ribs and gut. 

Through bleary, angry eyes, he watched the group, his dad, the Harvelles and the others, all of them sitting together as their dinner was prepared. How had he ever thought he fit in with those savages? 

* * *

Once he'd understood that Dean belonged to someone else, that he had a baby with someone, that Dean did not belong to him, Sam had wandered far into the jungle. He'd sat in a tree and sulked most of the day, his heart aching. The monkeys and other animals had tried to rouse his spirits by drawing him into their play, but he'd remained despondent and shooed them away. 

It was well into the night before he rose and began to make his way to his tree house feeling more alone, here in a jungle full of his animal friends, than he’d ever felt in his life. During his journey, a chimp ran up to him and wouldn’t give up until he listened. The chimp had been near the river and had witnessed bad things happening to Sam’s friend.

Once Sam heard what had happened, he followed the chimp back to the campsite. Hiding among the trees and tall grasses, he scanned the surrounding area. Some of the members of the camp were sleeping in tents while others were on the ground, sleeping on thin mats or in sleeping bags. His gaze moved to the far-most edge of the camp, landing on Dean who was bound to a tree stump. 

Moving towards the edge of camp himself, Sam threw a pebble, letting it roll to the center of the camp. When no one stirred and he was certain they were asleep, he crept over to Dean. Pulling a sharp blade made of bone from his loincloth, he moved around the stump and stood in front of Dean. 

He reached out and cupped Dean’s cheek, his eyes tightening with anger at the condition he found Dean's face in. Leaning in, he briefly pressed his lips to Dean's in a feather light kiss before pulling his head back. Allowing his hand to slip down slightly, cupping Dean's neck tenderly he began sawing through the ropes that held the man immobile against the tree.

"You have to go. Sam leave. Shoo," Dean whispered, his voice raspy from having been left without water for too long. "It's a trap, go," he ground out, but Sam wasn't listening or watching, he was just freeing him. Dean searched the darkness, looking for the men who would be sure to attack. “Sam please, go,” he pleaded, but powerless as he was, all he could do was hope that Sam was as good at getting away as Tumba had claimed. 

Hearing his name whispered, Sam leaned in again and pressed his lips against Dean’s as he sawed through the ropes. The ropes fell away one by one, then Sam pulled Dean away from the tree and into his arms. 

The split second of inattention cost him. A sudden, heavy blow to the side of his head caused Sam to stagger to the side. Lips curling into a snarl, he rounded on his attacker and pushed Dean behind him, away from danger. When the next blow came, Sam was ready and attacked. 

He landed a few solid punches and shoved his attacker to the ground, but the fight became more deadly when more men, both natives and expeditioners, surrounded him and he was outnumbered. Roaring with anger when one of the men tried to get past him, he surprised the man by biting him, then kicking him the gut. The circle of men closed in even further, allowing no room for escape. Someone’s hands wrapped around Sam’s throat. He head-butted the person, and when the man kept his grip, Sam shoved his dagger deep into the man’s chest.

“Watch out!” Dean’s desperate warning came too late and a thick branch swung by one of the natives slammed against the back of Sam’s head, sending a spray of his blood all over Dean. Rough hands held Dean back, making it impossible for him to kneel down and check on Sam’s fallen and lifeless body.

The crowd of men made way for Bill who walked up chuckling wickedly, his gaze focused on the ape man laying at his feet. "Bind Tarzan in his cage," he instructed before his eyes lifted to Dean. "Once you've finished you can let John Winchester's bastard go," he added with a snort of disgust, before turning and walking away. 

Dean stopped struggling, his eyes following Sam who was being carried toward a cage. The cruel bastards tied Sam’s wrists to the top of the cage, so he was hanging limply, his arms carrying the weight of his entire body. He’d be in a lot of pain when he woke, and not just from the beating.

Eyes brimming with hate, Dean stared at Harvelle’s back, wishing him to perdition. When he was finally set free, he was directed to a tent where his belongings had been placed. He saw his father's legs sticking out of the tent but he knew damned well the man wasn't asleep.

Getting down on all fours, he crawled part way into the tent and opened up a small wooden chest to get a change of clothes. Grabbing what he needed, he gave a sniff and started to crawl out of the tent when his father broke the silence.

"I'm not under any illusions anymore." John rolled over to face his son, though there wasn’t much light to see by.

Dean didn't answer, but raised his chin up and stared hard at his father. Things would never, could never be the same, not after his father had been party to what had happened to him. 

"The beating?” John questioned his son’s refusal to answer. “It's time for you to man up. A scar or two on that pretty face might help save your reputation. If we're lucky." John sat up. "I owe them money. Lots of it. If I'd had a real son, there'd be a wedding to celebrate and Harvelle would cancel my debt."

Lips tightening into a grim line, Dean crawled back to the chest and grabbed a lamp and is knife, and started to search for his journal. There was no way he was spending the night here. When he couldn’t lay his hands on his book, his searching grew frantic.

"I threw it away. I looked at your drawings and so did Bill. You--"

Dean didn't let him finish. He just crawled out and marched away from the tent. When his path took him too close to where Sam was caged, two natives marched him away from it. 

Cursing under his breath, he headed away from the camp, to the river. To wash his own blood and the wild man’s blood off him. To change. And to think. Think of a way to get Sam out of their clutches.

* * *

Before the expedition headed off shortly after dawn, Dean felt Sam's gaze on him. But each time he tried to meet it, Sam looked away.

Dean repeatedly asked about getting food and water to Sam, but he'd been ignored. No one was really talking to him. Only Tumba had tried to speak with him, but Dean had shoved right past him. The man had said that no one could catch Tarzan. He'd implied that his men weren't really trying to get Sam... Tarzan. Yet it was his men's fists that left Dean battered. And it was his men that had brought Sam down.

When he filled a canteen with water, it was as if the others had read his mind. A few of the expeditioners had stepped in his way and warned him that no one had any compunction about trussing him up for the rest of the journey. If he was tied up, he couldn’t save anyone. With a curt nod, he went to gather his belongings.

The cage was loaded onto a wagon. Dean tried not to notice how Sam was slammed against its sides until it was secured on the wagon, or how he was jerked each time the wagon went over a rock or through a ditch, once they started to move. 

After a few hours, the distinctly unfriendly and reproachful looks from Jo and the others started to wear on him. Worse yet, Sam still refused to look at him. Like this was his fault. Like he hadn’t been a victim in this just like Sam. As if he wouldn’t give his life to free him, right now.

Dean slowed down and waited for the loaded wagons to pull ahead of him. Walking behind the expedition meant he no longer had to put up with the looks directed at him, or listen to their barely veiled insults. 

There were two things he wanted to accomplish in his life as of right now. Free Sam and get home to bid his mother farewell. He'd make his own way in the world, but it would be alone. As his father had said, he'd be lucky if the Harvelles let this pass and didn't wreck his reputation.

* * *

Sam stood half crouched with his arms bound to the top of the cage, his head hanging forward, his longish hair curtaining his face. When he'd come to, his first thoughts had been of his Dean, only to find that Dean was walking free amongst his captors. The blood on Dean's face, the obvious cuts and bruises that covered his face had lead Sam to believe that Dean needed help. Despite the fact that Dean already had a family of his own, that he’d rejected Sam, Sam had been unable to turn away and leave Dean to his fate. After all, his heart beat only for one now, the man he would forever see as his mate. Even if he was a betrayer.

* 

It was hot and sticky and yet Dean sat near the fire, slowly eating the sweet fruits of the jungle but neither tasting nor enjoying them. He was just passing time while the others went into their tents or laid out their bedrolls. So often, he'd wished they'd all leave him alone, and here he was now, so damned lonely. Course in light of everything they'd done, he didn't have much to say to any of them anyway. 

After he finished eating, he pretended his eyes were closing. It was for the benefit of those watching, and he was certain, they were watching him. Yawning, he got up and went to get his things. He set his bedroll up next to a tree, far away from the wagon, then laid down. For hours, he kept his eyes closed and barely moved. In contrast with his body, his mind was working double time with plans, possibilities, and hopes. 

*

The fire had mostly died down but Dean could still see by its light. He grabbed some of the clothes he'd brought, rolled them up and made his bedroll look like he was sleeping on it. Then he slowly back away, slipping into the jungle with a small sack in his hand.

The wagon that the cage was loaded on had been left under a tree. Although no one was next to it, Dean knew it was being guarded. Taking a leaf out of Sam's book, he sneaked up to the tree from the jungle side and silently climbed up. A few minutes later, he used his dagger to free up a vine and let it drop, its end falling down into the cage. "Shshsh," he said, putting his finger on his lips. 

Sam lifted his head, tilting his face upward and met Dean’s gaze. He tugged at the rope holding his wrists bound to the cage. "Deean," he rasped softly.

"Shush," Dean repeated, making the same gesture. Hoping to God he could do this, Dean swept his leg around a length of the vine several times, so it wrapped around him, then slowly tipped over, grabbing the lengths of vine below his leg and raising both legs up, so he was hanging upside down above the cage. Slowly, he inched down until he could reach the top of the cage. 

Dipping his hand between the wide bars, he stroked Sam's face and rubbed some of the dried blood off, using his thumb. He shook his head in a silent apology, then rummaged in the sack he had with him, pulled out the small flask he'd filled with water, and brought it to Sam’s mouth. "Water. Drink," he whispered, his legs shaking with the strain of holding his entire body weight.

Sam cringed slightly at Dean's first touch before allowing it, his brows furrowing at the sight of the man hanging upside down over him. At first, he moved his mouth away from the flask and pressed his lips together tightly. When Dean tried again, this time tipping the flask, Sam felt the cool water hit his bottom lip. This time, he parted his lips and gulped down large swallows of the water, not stopping until he’d drained it. 

Once Dean pulled the empty flask away, Sam’s eyes lifted to Dean's again. He didn’t understand any of this. If Dean had a family elsewhere, if he had helped the others to capture Sam, why then was he being kind to Sam? And why was there such a look of sadness in the depths of his beautiful green eyes? 

"Deean... not Sam's," Sam muttered dejectedly. He’d learned the word only a few days ago after having listened in on conversations and slowly began to understand the meaning.

"Dean not anyone's," Dean answered equally despondent. He gave a sniff and capped the flask, dropping it into the safety of the sack. When his eyes met Sam's, it hurt. It wasn't because of Sam's state, though that was enough to make anyone with half a heart sad to see this wild man made a captive. It was the knowledge that the source of Sam's pain was himself. "Dean is Sam's," he whispered, finally, his eyes stinging. "Dean can't be _with_ Sam, but Dean is Sam's." He looked around and then pulled out the knife. "I'm gonna get you free, okay?" He started to cut the ropes, trying hard not to nick Sam.

Sam's brow furrowed at Dean's words, which made no sense, not when he considered the things Dean had told him before. As Dean worked to free him, Sam moved his fingers, touching Dean’s wrist to get his attention.   
"Deean... ba-bee?" He asked and shook his head. "Deean...not Sam's... Deean ba-bee..."

"I am not a baby." Dean frowned. "Wait. Dean's baby? You mean Jo? Wait, you think I have a ... no. No," he accidentally slipping down a little and had to twist his ankle around the vine to prevent himself from tumbling down on top of the cage. "Dean Sam's. Dean definitely has _no_ baby." He licked his lips and started sawing at the ropes faster. This wasn't the time for a conversation, he needed to get Sam out of here.

Sam continued to watch, his gaze darting between the ropes and the man's face. "Deean no ba-bee?" He repeated, the crease in his brow growing deeper. "Deean Sam's?" 

Slowly his brow smoothed out and a wide grin split his face. He began tugging at the rope with excitement as he struggled to break free. 

"Shshsh," Dean shook his head. "Come on... almost done..."

Then everything went to hell. 

Men with torchlights surrounded the wagon. 

“Tumba! You get your men to grab that boy, now!” Harvelle bellowed, pointing at Dean. “God damned savages, what do you think I’m paying you for?”

The rest of Harvelle’s ranting was lost to Dean who was torn off the vine and tumbled to the ground. He rolled away from his attackers, then fought back, landing several good punches and drawing blood. It was over very quickly though, he had no chance against the sheer number of men grabbing him.

Dean was dragged up in front of Harvelle. His dad stood there too, next to the man, but he was avoiding Dean's eyes. 

Another commotion had Dean looking back at the cage, where Sam had managed to yank one wrist free of the ropes. His gut clenched when two of the expeditioners and a native advanced on the cage. His shouts to leave Sam alone were ignored.

One man got up onto the wagon and pulled the door open. When he reached inside, Sam swung toward him, managing to kick him in the face. As he tried to pull his wrist free, the man came at him again, this time shoving the butt of a rifle through the door of the cage and bashing it into Sam’s stomach.

Sam fought back, trying to grab it with one hand, but two other men started using sticks and the butt of another rifle, sliding them through the bars and jabbing and beating him with them. The harsh blows landed everywhere, on his kidneys, his chest, his face, his head. 

Blood ran from his nose and dripped onto his bare chest, his lip was split, rivulets of blood ran from a cut above his eye and his body was battered and bruised. He opened his mouth and took in a deep breath, intending to call out into the jungle, only to receive a sharp blow the gut that had him doubling over as far as he could with one wrist still bound. 

As he struggled for air, a rag was tied around his head, gagging his mouth to prevent any further attempts at calling out. Even after they silenced him and he no longer fought back, they kept beating him, and beating him until darkness swallowed him up. 

Dean's shouts of 'no' and ‘you’ve killed him,’ continued until his voice grew so hoarse, it could barely be heard. His wrists were tied behind his back and he was pushed and shoved to the tent area. Someone’s foot slammed into the small of his back, sending him sprawling to the ground, face down, next to his father's tent. 

* * * 

Dean had thought he wouldn't fall asleep. That his mind would keep spinning with ideas of how to get Sam out before they killed him or managed to take him off the African continent, away from his home. 

He was wrong. He fell into a heavy, exhausted sleep that blocked everything out. Everything.

*

Shouts and screams piercing through the night roused Dean. Laying on his stomach, he raised his head up just in time to see his father dragged out of the tent, cursing, kicking and fighting. 

Shots rang out. There was the shuffle of feet. The sounds of struggles, and calls for help.

By the time Dean rolled over and managed to sit up, their camp was over-run by fierce warriors who were not sparing with their spears. Dean got to his feet and started to run for the tree line but a sharp sting had him wishing he could reach the side of his neck to pull out the dart lodged in his skin. Seconds later, Dean crumbled to the ground.

* * *

The captured trespassers were bound at several different points around a large area in the center of the tribe's village. The two older men had been stripped down to just their britches, all of their other clothing, including their boots had been removed. A few of the other expeditioners and their native guides were with them, also tied to posts. 

Jo had been stripped completely naked and was tied to a post across from them. The women of the village crowded around her, painting her skin and plastering her hair back with the same colored paste. 

At another point in the village center, inside and open-sided dwelling with a roof thatched with leaves, the tribe's witch doctor stood in front of Dean. Stripped of his clothes, Dean was laid flat on a waist high flat rock, perhaps an alter of sorts, with his arms and legs stretched wide and bound. Villagers stood around him, washing him down, scrubbing his skin with yards of material dipped into hot water and white paint-like paste which they used to coat his body, much like the women were doing to Jo.

Lifting his head, Dean looked past the people and could see his father and some of the others with him, outside the hut. "Dad. Dad, are you okay?" he shouted. Then he heard Jo's cries, but he couldn't see her as she was surrounded by women. 

Dean looked at his own captors, wondering what the hell they were doing. "What do you want?" he shouted at them. "Tumba!" He couldn't see the guide, but if they were going to be understood by these people, it would only be through Tumba. 

"Daddy?" Jo cried out.

"Be brave, Joanna Beth," Bill called back.

Dean felt the insane desire to laugh at the advice, not that his own father had given him any.

Jo's choked sobs filled the quiet moments between the drum beats that sounded around them. 

Dean could see part of the circle of men sitting down, playing their instruments and chanting what was, no doubt, a death march.

The witch doctor motioned for another tribe member to bring something over while his dark eyes bore into Dean's. When his apprentice returned, the witch doctor accepted the human head the man was holding. Holding it up and tilting his own head back, he poured its contents, a dark liquid, into his mouth. The head belonging to one of the natives that had been on expedition with them, that had been alive only minutes ago.

Dean recognized the face on the head the witch doctor was drinking from as belonging to one of the natives who had beaten him last night, but he felt no joy at the man’s horrifying death. He tried to keep his features expressionless, though he wanted to throw up everything in his stomach. 

Had they done that to Sam too? Sam hadn't had a chance, not tied up and caged. He tried not to think about it, not to think about the fact that they were all going to die. Unless some of the people on the expedition had gotten away, but would they come back here for them? 

As he stared at the witch doctor, Dean tested the bindings. If they left. If they walked away for a while, maybe he could rub some of the vines against the stone. Maybe. But right here and now, if they were going to kill him, he was already dead. 

The witch doctor reached for Dean, roughly grasping his jaw, his fingers digging into his cheeks to force Dean’s mouth open. He held the skull he'd just drank from over Dean's mouth and slowly tipped it over, pouring the dark liquid into mouth.

*

Sam awoke with a start, head jerking up and eyes snapping open. His jaw worked against the gag tied in his mouth as he tugged at the ropes that now held both his wrists to the top of the cage. He called out for Dean against the material that was stuffed into his mouth. Hearing nothing, no reply to his muffled sounds and seeing no activity about the camp he grew more agitated, thrashing around in his effort to tug his wrists free. His nostrils flared with his heaving breaths as he continued to struggle, ignoring the burn of the ropes cutting into his wrists. 

Crying out his aggravation against the gag, Sam pulled as hard as he could until finally the cane that the cage was forged from snapped with the force of Sam's frantic efforts. Sam pulled the restraints from his wrists then reached up and untied the gag from behind his head. 

Busting out of the cage, Sam saw the devastation of the camp site. One glance at the dead bodies and the markings on some of the spears, and he knew. 

Moving faster than a jungle cat, he disappeared into the jungle.

 

*

Someone snatched Dean's glasses off his face while he was busy coughing and trying to spit out the bitter concoction forced down his throat. He didn't even want to acknowledge that it tasted like a blood mixture. 

The men around him moved away. From a distance, he saw a big man approach. As he became clearer, Dean saw there was something in his hand. A machete. 

"No. No... sonova... No!" he shouted, trying to wriggle free of the bindings as the man's intent to lop off his leg became clear.

Some sort of chanting filled the air around him and the witch doctor was slapping him in the face with something fuzzy, something he couldn't see. Whatever he’d ingested, it was making his vision bleary. 

He could hear his father's shouts, calling his name and shouting at their captors the things he would do to them if they touched his son. 

A hand pressed on his thigh. Then he felt the hard edge of the machete press against his thigh, get lifted away, and touch him again, as if the man was taking aim. 

Dean lost it and shouted his head off, futilely screaming for help.


	6. Chapter 6

Moving as swift as a cheetah, Sam burst out of the jungle and jumped onto the large, blade-wielding native's back. The native lurched forward, nearly toppling on top of Dean under the impact of Sam's weight. 

Dozens of the others converged on Sam. yanking him and slapping him in an attempt to get him to release his arm from around the larger man's neck. Spear bearers jabbed him with their weapons, and yet Sam refused to release the man.

His captive abruptly reached back, dropping the machete in the process. He grasped handfuls of Sam's hair and tugged had, bending over at the same time, and managing to send Sam rolling off his back and across the ground. 

Sam lay on the ground slightly stunned for just a moment before he was back on his feet. He shook his head to clear away the dazed fog from his brain and then focused on the man who’d been about to hurt Dean. 

Dean's brief moment of joy at the reprieve dimmed. There was no way Sam could win. No way. If he stayed, if he fought, he would be captured and killed. "Go Sam. Run. Run. Go." He shouted. "Dean _not_ Sam's. Go! Go, you big lug, beat it!"

Sam's attention snapped to Dean, his brow creasing and his heart skipping a beat. He couldn't believe it, refused to believe it. Dean had just told that he was his and now... No it was lies, just lies. It had to be.

The men converging on the ape man parted to allow the largest amongst them to teach him a lesson. 

The words they were shouting were unintelligible to Dean, but he caught the occasional ‘Tarzan.’ They knew who Sam was but did that make a difference? Would they let him live? 

Sam focused on the man stalking toward him. He gave a low snarl and, bunching his hands at his sides, crossed the distance between them. He danced back out of the large man’s reach, his gaze darting around as he searched for a vine or something else he could hoist himself up with. An escape route, some way to get Dean of this place of death.

"Run!" Dean screamed, seeing the action through bleary eyes. Tensing as the enraged native shouted at Sam, a low protest broke from the back of his throat as he saw the man kick and pummel Sam. “No... No!”

So many times, so many times, Dean saw Sam get picked up and thrown down, stepped on, and kicked. His vision wasn't good enough to be able to see clearly without his spectacles, but Dean knew Sam had to be bleeding from head to toe, and yet he kept getting up. Again and again, and it was for Dean. He knew that too. He was delaying the inevitable. 

Sam crawled across the ground in an attempt to escape the giant of a man, pulling himself along and leaving a bloody trail in the dirt behind him. He rolled over onto his back as the native's immense shadow fell over him. Forearms pressed against the ground and elbows bent, he held his upper body up off the ground, hair falling over his face, he stared at the man stalking toward him with murder in his eyes. 

The witch doctor suddenly stepped close to Dean and pressed the blade of the dropped machete across his thigh, a victorious smile curling his lips as he stared down at the spread eagled man from lands beyond the seas. 

Sam tossed his head back, gasped in a gulp of air and called out loudly, "AAAHHHH eeee ahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaa ahahaaaaaaaaaaaa, AAAHHHH eeeee ahahahahaaaaaaaaaaa ahahahaaaaaaaaa!!!"

A moment later, the calls and shouts of their captors was eclipsed by a loud thunderous quake that shook the ground. The sound of trumpeting elephants filled the air as they stormed into the village, accompanied by large jungle cats roaring as they rushed out from the shadows of the jungle. 

Dean couldn't hear his own shouts above the sounds around him. The pain he expected never came as the people surrounding him started to run. He struggled against the bindings that cut into him. He tried to see Sam, his father and the others but there was too much going on. People running and shouting, getting trampled by animals and fighting. He heard gun fire, which told him that at least one of the expedition members was probably loose. The big question was, where was Sam? The call had been his, but he'd been on the ground. Had he been trampled by the animals or killed at the witch doctor's orders? 

It killed Dean to be so useless, unable to move, to help. "Get these off me. Someone, get these off me!" he shouted. 

One of the lions suddenly jumped up into the makeshift altar near where Dean was bound. The large jungle cat paced back and forth, its attention on Dean the entire time as though he were simply toying with his prey before going in for the kill. 

Dean's shouts died in his throat, replaced by a strangled sound of fear. He'd been saved from getting chopped up for the village buffet but now he was going to turn into cat food. He felt the thing nudge him and squeezed his eyes shut. _Play dead. Play dead. Play dead._ It was a good plan, really the only one he was capable of executing, but his entire body was trembling and his mind was giving him previews of what it would feel like to be torn to shreds and eaten alive.

During the mayhem, Sam shouted to some of the animals who were attacking only those who refused to run. He scrambled between their legs and managed to grab a dropped knife. Running through the village, he stopped in front of John Winchester. When their eyes met, his own tightened threateningly into narrow slits before he wordlessly sliced through the ropes imprisoning man. He understood this man was Dean's father and it was the only reason he took the time to free him instead of leaving him to his fate, be it by the animals, or when the villagers returned. 

That one task completed, Sam rounded on the natives, and the warriors who refused to leave the village. He worked his way through them, aided by the animals that picked them off, and trampled them or tore at their flesh. His sole focus now was to get to Dean. 

*

Rubbing his wrists, John was about to head for Harvelle because the man could fight, whereas Jo couldn't, but he saw that Tumba had already freed him and was handing him a loaded weapon. Nodding at the pair, he ran for Jo, fighting his way to her and getting disarming a man, taking his knife. 

The animals seemed to be in frenzy, haphazardly tearing people apart, but it worked to the advantage of the captives by keeping their captors busy fighting for their lives. 

"I got you Jo," he said as he undid the bindings that tied her to the post, then picking her up in his arms. Carrying her safely back to the now re-armed group from the expedition was no easy matter, but he steadfastly fought off anyone who approached, using Jo as a weapon now and again. 

"Let's get out of here while the going's good," Harvelle said, motioning to those of his expedition who were still alive.

"I'm going for my boy."

"Your boy's dead, Winchester. Come on, don't make your wife cry twice," Harvelle shouted as a shirt was thrown over his daughter and someone from their group lead her into the jungle.

*

 

"Deean! Deean!" Sam called out as he fought his way to his mate.

The lion next to Dean roared loudly, answering Sam's shouts as it continued to pace, sometimes brushing against Dean in the process, and stopping when Sam made it to them.

Patting the cat’s head once, then shoving it away, and sawing through the ropes that held Dean, Sam pulled his lover up into his arms, hugging him briefly before flinging him up and over his shoulder. 

Dean had long gone too hoarse to shout effectively, but his last cries had been warnings to Sam about the lion. Once Sam freed him, his world blurred and he barely had his hand closed around his precious spectacles when he found himself hanging over Sam's shoulder and being jostled as his wild man carried him away. 

The vicious lion roared in his face and chased them. He struggled, wanting to get away from it, wanting to warn Sam who seemed not to even notice it.

It took a little time for Dean to calm down and realize the lion, like the elephants and the monkeys, were friends of Sam. "Have to..." He needed to get to his dad, get to the others. "Sam I ... Sam!"

It was useless, either Sam couldn't hear him because he had no voice left, or he refused to stop, or both. At some point, Dean felt Sam launch himself upwards, and they were swinging from vine to vine, the ground a blur of green and brown. Dean concentrated on keeping his fist clenched around his glasses and holding on to the hope that the others had gotten away, that the shots he'd heard meant they were free too.

*

He must have blacked out or been only semi-conscious because the cool water surrounding him and splashing in his face was the first time Dean noticed they were in pool. Blinking, he put his glasses on and looked around. 

They were at the lagoon near Sam's tree house. An arm encircling his stomach kept him from submerging. Licking his lips, he turned his head to find Sam holding him. He nodded, "I can stand."

When Sam slowly released him, Dean turned around fully and reached out, putting his hand on Sam's shoulder and took note of all of all the blood, the cuts, the swelling and the bruising. 

"You... you look a mess." He smiled, "Ouch..." Dipping his cupped hand in the water, he brought it up to Sam's face and started washing him free of blood and grime. The man had gone through so much on his account. Too much. 

Having gently washed the blood and dirt off Dean when he was practically unconscious, Sam quietly allowed Dean to return the favor. His eyes tracked Dean's hands, then he reached up and wrapped his fingers around his mate's wrist, stilling his movements.

"Deean... Sam's?" He asked tentatively.

"How about Sam is Dean's?" Dean asked, his breath catching at the intensity of Sam's gaze. "I'm confusing you again, aren't I? Yes. Dean is Sam's," he nodded, a little ashamed of the way his heart tumbled and the joy he felt when he didn't know how his dad and the others had fared. Still, he couldn't deny he was glad to be alive and really glad that Sam was too. "Let me..." He used his free hand to continue cleaning Sam up.

Sam slowly released his grip, allowing Dean to move his hand away and holding still as Dean washed him. His eyes darted between Dean's hand, watching each movement that it made, almost warily, and his eyes, getting lost within their vibrant green depths. 

Lifting one hand out of the water, Sam brushed the back of his knuckles downward along the side of Dean’s cheek. "Deean Sam's... mate," he declared softly.

 _Mate._ The word startled Dean but thrilled him as well. "That's probably as close to a marriage proposal as I'm ever likely to get." His heart was singing, but he wasn't as naive as his family made him out to be. The world would come crashing in, if not now, then in a few days or weeks. 

Taking Sam's hand, he kissed his palm then laid it on his own heart. "My heart says 'yes' but..." he pulled Sam's hand up, laying it now across his forehead. "My head says 'no.' So... maybe?"

Sam didn't understand. He tilted his head to the side, his brow furrowing in confusion before he pulled his hand away from Dean's forehead and wrapped his arms around Dean, pulling him in close. He dipped his head, his face pressed against the crook of Dean's neck and drew in a deep breath, drinking in his lover's scent as his eyes slipped blissfully closed, a soft groan tumbling from deep in his throat. "Deean Sam's," he whispered. 

Pressed against Sam's wet body, feeling his lips and breath against his throat, Dean put his own arms around Sam and threw his head back, a soft moan breaking from him. A few minutes ago, his body hurt and all he wanted was to get clean and drop in a heap. But now... the things his wild man said, the way he held him, touched him, it made him want to reach for the stars. 

Slowly, Dean brought his head back and sought out Sam's mouth with his. He didn't hesitate or ask or wait for Sam to make the first move. At the first touch of their lips, he pushed his tongue inside the heat of Sam's mouth, kissing him with the hunger of a man who'd thought he'd lost everything, who'd seen his lover beaten senseless and left for dead. Like a man proving to himself, and to Sam, that they were alive.

One step at a time, he pulled Sam with him as he walked backwards to the edge of the lagoon, conscious that he was stark naked, but unable to care. Sam's soft wet loin cloth rubbed against him and couldn't hide the fact that both of them were getting aroused. 

"Want you." A moment later, Dean whispered, "Love you."

Sam’s world fell away. His entire being focusing only on the man in his arms. His hands moved over Dean's skin, caressing his flesh in loving, increasingly desperate strokes. He watched Dean through heavy lidded eyes, his breaths fanning softly from between his parted. Dean’s words were unknown. Their meaning lost on Sam, but the sentiment seemed to be clear, causing him to lean in and crush his mouth possessively over Dean’s. 

Tearing his mouth away only in order to gulp in some much needed air, Sam nodded. "Love want," he agreed huskily.

As they reached the edge of the lagoon, the water lapping at their ankles, Dean dodged Sam's mouth and instead kissed his way down the column of Sam's throat, lingering over his Adam’s apple, tonguing it. His hands moved over Sam's chest, mapping out his body, memorizing it. When his thumb moved over Sam's nipple and it tightened, Dean's attention was drawn to it.   
Watching Sam's response, he felt heat flooding his gut. 

Groaning, Dean dipped his head and covered Sam's nipple with his mouth, sucking it, then twisting his tongue around it, playing with it. 

Sam moaned softly and his head lulled back, his hands smoothing down Dean's back to grasp his firm bare buttocks. He cantered his hips forward, grinding up against Dean, arching and pressing into the wet warmth of Dean's mouth against the sensitive flesh. 

Gripping Dean’s ass harder, Sam hefted his mate slightly up off the ground and pulled him up hard against his body. He walked out of the water, stopping only when he had his mate’s back against the trunk of the tree next to his house. One of his hands slipped down, fingers dipping between the cleft of Dean's ass, fingertips brushing against the tightly puckered flesh of his mate's hole. Sam groaned low and long, his hips grinding against Dean's, his hard cock pressing against Dean's through the thin material of his loincloth.

The slide of Sam's fingers along his sensitive hole had Dean gasping and raising his face up, his eyes locking with Sam's. "I want that too. But I want to try something," he whispered, sliding his hands down Sam's abs and slowly tugging where the loin cloth was tucked around Sam's waist. "Something I... I read about. Imagined," he admitted for the first time to anyone out loud. 

For a second, he wished they were under the cover of night. But when the scrap of buttery suede material fell to the ground and he was faced with Sam's hard cock angling toward him, Dean had a change of heart. Putting his hands on Sam's sides, he looked up into his eyes, and started to drop down to the ground, on his knees. 

Sam’s passion glazed eyes tracked his mate’s movements. He had no idea what the man was saying and even less of an idea what it was he was doing, why he was moving out of his embrace and why he had prevented Sam from touching him again. But as Dean lowered to his knees, the muscles of Sam's stomach rippled and tensed. 

Dean dared to brush his mouth lightly over Sam’s cock, then looked up.

Just as Sam started to join Dean on his knees, he froze in place at the sensation of his mate's warm mouth sliding against his hard cock. Sam gasped in a shocked and pleasured breath, his eyes widening as he stared down at Dean, stagger-stepping back. His hands went to Dean's shoulders, his hair, fingers curling within the short hairs.

His chest rose and fell heavily with his heavy breaths and gave soft grunts and made low 'oo-oo' sounds that Dean could no more understand that Sam could understand the things that Dean did to him.

"Good? Feels good?" Not expecting an answer but taking his cues from Sam's reactions, Dean placed one palm on Sam's powerful thigh and swept his other hand up and down between Sam’s legs, working up the courage to move all the way up and close his fingers around Sam's hard length. 

Dean squeezed lightly, moaning softly at the thought of how it must feel. Slowly, he twisted his wrist so Sam's tip was directly in front of his mouth, then dipping his head, he licked around his crown, exploring it with the flat of his tongue. 

Sam's breaths hitched as he watched Dean. The pleasure coursing through him was so acute he was barely able to breathe, let alone stop the man from doing the things he was to his body. His hips cantered as though of their own accord, a soft mewling tumbling from deep in his throat. His breaths panted quickly and heavily, much like an animal’s. His chest and sides heaving as Dean brought his mouth close to the tip of his dick again, the muscles of his stomach tensing and rippling beneath the surface as he fluctuated between holding his breath and gulping in deep breaths. 

Sam thrust his hips, his head lulling back on a low guttural cry as Dean's tongue swirled around the tip of his cock. His legs trembled and his fingertips dug firmly into the tender flesh of Dean's shoulders, likely leaving bruises behind.

"That good, huh?" Gaining confidence, Dean brought Sam's cock to his mouth again this time sucking his crown into his mouth. Vaguely, he was aware of the shudder that passed through Sam, but he was mostly caught up in the experience, in learning how Sam felt in his mouth, how he tasted and reacted. Dean learned that when he slid his tongue across Sam's slit, he could coax more precome from Sam and that Sam got impossibly harder. Lightly squeezing him, he started to move his fist up and down his length while using his mouth and tongue on his tip, his own stomach clenching at thoughts of how it might feel if it were Sam’s mouth on him. 

Sam grunted and groaned, his hips rocking, thrusting his cock in and out of Dean's mouth. His eyes were wide as he watched his length move between his mate's lips, an action he had never witnessed before between man nor beast. He continued to cling to Dean, gripping tightly to his shoulders, his short blunt nails leaving crescent moons in the tender skin. 

"Deean," he grunted. "Gah, aaggah, Deean..."

Until now, it had always been Sam who'd pleasured him. Touched him. Showed him what they should try next. Dean had been afraid. A little ashamed. And shy, so painfully shy. Even now, he fought to keep his confidence, to keep pleasuring Sam. But Sam's unvarnished reactions making it clear he liked this, and that he wanted more of it, helped Dean. Made him want to make this moment perfect. 

Dean started to experiment, thinking about how he touched himself those times when he was too weak to fight his lust. He started twisting his wrist each time he moved his hand along Sam's length, then closing his eyes, he reached between Sam's legs with his other hand and cupped his balls. Taking cues from the way Sam thrust, he got into a good rhythm, sucking, stroking and squeezing Sam, careful not to choke but allowing Sam to push all the way in whenever he needed.

Sam gasped in startled breaths and for a moment tried to pull away, then tried to push closer. His hips moved involuntarily, thrusting his cock into his mate's waiting mouth. His breaths panted harshly, sides heaving in and out. Heat shot through his veins in waves, sending blood pooling low in his gut, making his cock twitch and pulse within the confines of his lover's mouth. Deep, guttural groans and grunts broke from Sam. His muscled tensed and his back arched, his body strained toward Dean's as goose bumps broke out along his arms and caused his nipples to pebble tightly.

Sensing Sam was close, Dean squeezed his balls again and tightening his lips around Sam's cock, he sucked as hard as he could, hollowing out his cheeks. When Sam shoved his cock deeper into his mouth, he swallowed it down and as he moved his head back, still sucking on him, Sam started to come, ropes of spunk hitting the back of Dean’s throat. 

Dean might have pulled his mouth off, if he weren't so curious to taste Sam. Having gone this far, he wanted it all, everything they could experience with each other. He drank down every last drop of Sam's cum, deciding he tasted salty and sweet, like the fruits of the jungle. 

Slowly, he pulled off Sam's now flaccid cock, licking him once more before he started to stand up. "Sam likes? Good?"

Sam hadn't known what to think when he'd been about to come and found that pulling away from Dean's mouth was an impossibility. His mate held him tightly in place as did, it seemed, his own body which was rooted in place, his hips thrusting his dick deeper into his lover's mouth even before he could think of what he should do next. Now, as he stood, weak-kneed and sated, Sam had no idea what to say, even if he could communicate with his Dean. "Sam... Deean's," he sighed wearily. 

"Sam is Dean's, that's right. Sam is Dean's," Dean agreed, laughing happily and bumping into Sam, kissing him lightly and searching his face again. "I'm never gonna forget that look on your face. Never. Not ever." 

He looked toward the tree-house, then took Sam's hand and started walking toward it, bending over only to pick up his glasses. When they reached the tree, he remembered he was completely naked. "After you," he said, nudging Sam. 

Sam looked at Dean in confusion, unsure as to why his mate was not going up. He was even more confused when Dean nudged him forward and yet he remained where he was. Sam shook his head adamantly and stepped behind Dean. There was no way he was letting his mate leave him again, not without a fight. He nudged Dean and gestured for him to start climbing. 

When Dean still resisted, Sam frowned. "Deean." His clipped, hard tone, made it obvious it was a command. 

"I can't. Look, I'm not comfortable with you looking up and..." Yeah, Dean realized after what they'd just done, he sounded silly. Then there was the fact that Sam was standing there like an immovable mountain in front of him, barring his way. 

Dean put his spectacles on then ripped Sam's loin cloth out of Sam’s hand, wrapping it around his own body and complaining under his breath. "I'm going, I'm going." He reached up for the vine and started climbing. "You know, I'd be a lot more comfortable if you weren't looking up." He climbed faster and threw his leg onto the first platform, then headed up the smaller vine to the main part of the house.

Sam slowly climbed up behind Dean, watching him as he moved and taking note which vine he reached for and where he climbed as though he might be about to try to make a run for it. Reaching the main part of the tree house, Sam moved around, searching for a way to ensure that Dean would not, could not, run off in the night this time. 

Watching Sam walk around, Dean cocked his head. "What are you doing?" he asked, taking a couple steps back, then sitting down on the edge of a small pallet that served as a chair, he assumed. Still, Sam kept pacing. 

Dean caught himself admiring Sam’s chiseled body. Guiltily, he drew his gaze away. "Maybe you should get dressed. Dressed," he repeated, tugging at the loin cloth that he was now wearing.

Sam looked back over his shoulder at Dean briefly before rummaging through more things to try and figure out a way to make him stay. He turned and walked over to where Dean was seated and crouched, his arms hanging down between his legs as he gazed at Dean, his brow creased as he pondered what to do.

"Deean Sam's," he said firmly with a curt nod. He shook his head and reached out with one hand, pressing it heavily down against Dean's thigh, "Deean Sam's," he repeated, staring unflinchingly into Dean's eyes.

"Sam?" Dean was a little cautious because Sam seemed to be getting agitated, and he didn’t know why. "Okay. Yes." He leaned back, his hands behind him on the floor. If it weren't for Sam's hand on his thigh, he might have crawled back a little, away from him. 

"Stop," Dean said, putting his hand on Sam's chest. 

Sam lifted a hand and placed it over Dean's on his chest. "Deean..." he tried to remember the words, tried to hear them in his head, the ones that other hunters, other men on expeditions had said, tried to remember their meanings. "...St-ay," he commanded brokenly, uncertain if he had even used the correct word. "Deean... Sam's... stay!" 

"Stay?" Dean smiled. "That's good. Yes, Dean stay. For now," he added. "Today and tomorrow. Two days, for sure." He looked out and pointed at the sun dipping down into the horizon. Then he put up two fingers. "Two days. Sun comes up, goes down, comes up, goes down. Dean stay until then," he said, gesturing.

Sam's hand on Dean's thigh moved, sliding down his leg to cup him underneath his knee cap. Pulling at his leg, he slid Dean over so they were body against body. His arm wrapped possessively around Dean as Sam stared into the man's green eyes. "Stay," he repeated. 

He lifted his other hand and ran the backs of his fingers downward along the side of Dean's face tenderly. His fingers slowly fell away, tickling along Dean’s side until he cupped Dean's hip and pulled him in close. 

"I love you. That's got to count for something, right?" Dean asked, his eyes stinging. Pulling off his spectacles and setting them aside, he curled his own arms around Sam's thighs and scooted a little closer. Leaning in, he cupped the side of Sam's face and slanted his mouth across Sam's, kissing him slowly, with every emotion he had in his heart. His love, his happiness at having found or been found by Sam, of the short moments they'd shared and of the knowledge that this, however beautiful it was, would have to end. 

"Just enjoy this, our time," Dean said, feeling a tear slip down his cheek and kissing Sam a little harder.

Thunder rolled overhead, and suddenly it started to rain hard. The sound of water spraying over the thick jungle and water rushing in nearby streams surrounded them. Made it feel like they were even more isolated, trapped in their own magical world. "Love you," Dean whispered again, tugging at Sam. 

As the rain started to fall and Dean's lips left his own, Sam turned his head, his eyes scanning the jungle around them before his mate drew his attention back. "Love," Sam said with a nod. He lifted his hand and wiped at the tear streak on Dean's cheek with his thumb. "Love," he repeated, his eyes meeting Dean's before he leaned in and brushed his lips against his mate's. 

His arms wrapped securely around Dean, holding him up against his body as he dipped his head and buried his face against the man's neck. 

Dean wrapped his arms around Sam, loving the way Sam nuzzled his neck and just held onto him. "Love," he said, in Sam's way, smiling and resting his chin on Sam's shoulder, listening to the storm, wishing he were like Sam. A simple man, not shaped or restrained by the rules of society. 

"If wishes came true, Sam, I'd stay here with you forever. I've never been happier," he sighed, dropping a kiss on Sam's shoulder, "than I've been here, with you." 

* * * 

Two days turned to seven as Dean couldn't make himself give up paradise. His wild man was quick to grasp information and Dean had managed to teach him quite a lot of English. 

They'd gone through Sam's parents' items and Dean had given a name to each of them, showing Sam what things were used for. Sometimes, he found Sam had already figured it out while other times, he saw that Sam had found a novel use for the items. It made Dean laugh, a lot and Dean liked it. It was proof he was not the humorless academic he was often accused of being.

He spent some time reading from an outdated travel book from the small chest of items Sam had collected. Even if Sam didn't understand, he'd noticed Sam liked to hear his voice, so he read out loud to him.

Sam taught him a lot too. About what fruits and vegetables were safe to eat and how to trap animals, how to share a kill with the animals of the jungle so that nothing was wasted. The one thing that Dean was not yet used to was Sam's monkey friends who seemed fascinated by his glasses and kept stealing them.

One morning, he'd awakened to Sam's calls and walked to the edge of the platform of the tree house only to be caught up in Sam's arms and carried away, swinging with him from vine to vine. Sam had given him swinging lessons that day, though each time he'd landed on his ass, Sam and the damned monkeys had fits of laughter. The worst had been when Sam had rolled him over onto his stomach, lifted the loin cloth he was wearing and made sure his ass wasn't hurt. Dean had stalked away amid more laughter.

The last few days hadn't been filled with as much merry making. Dean had repeatedly explained to Sam all the reasons he had to get back to his family, to his father, if his father was still alive. He’d told Sam that he had to cross a big ocean to get to his home, to where he belonged. 

He didn't say anything about marrying Jo. He didn't want that and he'd made it clear to her. The way she'd treated him, he was quite certain she no longer wanted him for a husband either. But if she changed her mind and if his father really was in dire straits... What could a proper son do but erase his debt?

While Sam did not understand Dean’s reasoning, he did understand the word _leave,_ and that Dean was leaving. The tears from the gentle wild man and his broken pleas to _stay_ almost undid Dean. 

But Dean was used to a world where he didn't get what he wanted and had to pretend it was alright. So he hushed Sam and loved him as well as he could in the short time they had together.

* * * 

A few days later, they arrived at the port city where Dean knew the remnants of the expedition party would go to book their return voyage. They'd backtracked to the place Sam had been caged, just to make sure the party wasn't nearby. Knowing they were in dangerous territory, they hadn't stayed long. Dean had found his traveling bag, most of its contents picked over. Apparently his taste in clothes had been questionable as he was able to find a pair of pants and shirt.

Where once he would have been comfortable in his clothes, worn them like a shield, they now chafed against his skin. He tugged on them almost as much as Sam did, and it was hard telling Sam to cut it out when it was clear that he himself would have preferred to go without them.

When they reached the port city, some people stayed clear of them, of Sam mostly. Not Tumba. He walked up to them with a big smile. "You found the white Ape," he told Dean. "But don't advertise, it's not good for business, eh?"

Dean gave him a nod. "My father?"

Tumba pointed at the boarding house on the doc. "He is good. Tough man."

"Jo? Her father? The others?"

By the time Tumba gave him the run down, it was clear that most of their expedition, both native and foreign, had not made it. But Jo and his father were alive. 

"Thank you," Dean said, nodding at Tumba.

"They leave tomorrow morning. Your father, he..."

Imagining how his father felt about leaving his only son behind, even a disappointing son, Dean gave a choked nod, then slapping Sam's back nodded toward the boarding house and started to walk.

* 

Jo looked up from instructing one of the locals as to where to place baggage on the ship when she heard footsteps along the boardwalk. Her eyes widened and a wide smile split her face as she hurried forward and threw her arms around Dean's neck.

"Dean!" She exclaimed, "Oh Dean, it's so good to see you safe!" 

Sam stepped closer, his gaze darting between Dean and the blond haired woman in his arms.

Pulling back, her hands clinging tightly to Dean's, Jo leaned in and pressed her lips to Dean's in a sound kiss before turning her head and shouting, "John! John get up here!"

Sam took another step toward the two of them and slipped a hand in between Jo and Dean, he pressed his palm against Dean's chest and pulled him back against his own body, away from Jo. His eyes tightened menacingly as he stared at her, jaw held at a stubborn challenging angle. 

Jo's attention returned to Dean only to lift from Dean's face to the savage holding onto him, her nose wrinkling.

"Ah Jo..." Dean became very aware of Sam's stare and had the feeling if he didn't break Jo's hold and put some distance between them, she was going to end up tossed into the water. Gently, he disentangled himself from her and took a step back. "I'm real glad to see you in one piece. Real glad," he said. "Sorry about your father."

Dean drew in a breath and continued. "Jo, this is Sam. I know the last time you saw him he was in that damned cage, but he doesn't belong there. He rescued me," he said firmly. "And he got me here. Sam," he turned to the man he was forbidden to love. "This is Jo. My _friend_." 

Sam grunted out a greeting that wasn't much of a greeting at all and offered her a hand to shake just the way Dean had taught him. "Deean is Sam's," he stated firmly, pointedly tugging Dean back against him.

Jo daintily took Sam’s hand and warily waited for him to kiss it. When he, instead, simply shook it too firmly, she gave a cry of pain and demanded to know if he was trying to rip her arm out of its socket. 

Then Sam’s words registered and her eyes widened into saucers as she gasped in an audible breath. "My stars! Dean Winchester, you're having a fling with this wild savage!" She accused.

The stairs from below deck creaked under the solid weight of heavy boots. "What's the matter, Joanna Beth?" John called. 

Dean gave her a sharp look but couldn't refute her statement. He pushed Sam a little to the side, squeezing his arm in a silent soothing gesture. “Stay here,” he said, before striding across the ramp onto the boat, with Jo hard on his heels. 

He reached the part of the deck from where he heard his father’s voice, and found himself at the top the stairs, looking down.   
"Dad!" he exclaimed, seeing the wounds on his father’s face and that his arm was in a sling. 

"Dean?" John gasped and hurried up as quickly as his wounded body would allow, throwing an arm around Dean. "We thought you were dead, boy," he murmured and patted Dean on the back before swiftly releasing him.

He glanced toward Jo and wound up frowning when he caught sight of Sam standing on the boardwalk. 

"The hell is _he_ doing here?" He growled and reached for the gun at his hip. 

Jo smirked and lifted her brow as she looked over at Dean, "I’m sure I don't know, ask Dean," she replied sweetly. 

Dean gripped his Dad's wrist and held fast, stepping in front of him to block his view of Sam. "That _man_ right there, has a name. It’s Sam. We caged him and beat him, and still, he fought his way to me and saved me, got me out of that village. You won't be touching a hair on his head, Dad. Not anymore."

John tugged his wrist out of his son's grip as his gaze swung from Dean to Sam and back. "He's an animal, Dean. He's not a man." 

John glanced over at Jo apologetically before looking back at Dean. "I have no use for him. My interests do not lie where Bill's did, but that creature has got to go. He isn't fit to be around civilized society."

"That's not where Dean wants him," Jo muttered half under her breath with a snicker. 

"What did you say, Joanna?" John barked. 

Jo startled, her eyes wide as she looked over at John and shook her head. "N-n-nothing," she stammered. "Nothing at all."

"Deean come back with Sam," Sam interrupted with a nod. "Deean stay with Sam." 

John's wide eyed gaze darted incredulously between his son and the ape man, "You _what_!?"

Dean pulled his spectacles off and ran his hand over his face, then put them back. "That's enough." 

He looked over at his father. "Civilized by whose standards? He's been nothing but kind to me. Saved me. Fed me. Guided me back here. And what did we civilized men do to him?" He left that hanging out there, though the point was probably lost on his dad. 

Then he looked at Sam. "I have to leave. Go home with my father," he nodded.

Sensing Sam was going to have one of his tantrums, Dean walked over to him and spoke to his father over his shoulder. “I’ll be back in the morning. What time does the ship set sail?"

"We leave at first light, when the tide is high," John answered.   
"Where are you going?" He demanded of his son. "You're not going to leave with him! It's unseemly," he insisted. "You're going to stay right here with Jo and me, in town, in a nice room like a civilized young man. I don't care how hospitable the ape man has been to you, do you hear me, Dean!?" He barked. 

"Perhaps the ape man gives him more than hospitality," suggested Jo. 

"What?" John snapped, trying hard not to think about the drawings in Dean's journal and the things he and Harvell had noticed. 

Purposefully crossing the distance between himself and his son, John grabbed Dean by the collar of his shirt and spun him around without bothering to tug his fingers free, causing the material to tighten around his son's throat. 

"If I find out what she says is true, there will be hell to pay, do you understand me, boy?" He sneered. "Your sick perverse thoughts are bad enough but, if you are living them out with some damn animal in the jungle..." 

Dean instinctively put an arm protectively up over his face, even though his dad was wearing a sling. A little thing like that would not prevent him from getting struck if that was what his Dad wanted to do. Still, he answered the man. "In my experience, the so called _civilized_ animals are the worst--"

Sam rushed forward and jumped onto the boat, causing Jo to screech and scurry out of his way as he crossed over to where John roughly held onto Dean. He pulled Dean out of harm's way and held an arm out in an attempt to keep John separated from Dean. 

"Get the hell away from my boy," John snarled. 

Sam pushed Dean behind him and widened his stance protectively as he faced John. "Enough...of...this," he said in broken English, more words he had learned from Dean. "Deean do nothing wrong," he insisted with a firm nod. 

Jo scoffed, "Course not to you," she muttered with a roll of her eyes. "I guess sinning with a man would be a step up for you, what with living around all those animals," Jo sneered. 

"Watch your mouth," Dean snapped at her, then gripping a handful of Sam's loin cloth, he started tugging him back. "Come at me, at us, again and I swear you'll never see me again," Dean warned, walking backwards to get off the boat. "Sam..." Dean pleaded, wanting him not to get embroiled in a fight with his father.

Sam glanced back behind himself then did as Dean asked, leaving the boat and walking along the boardwalk a step behind Dean. He wrapped his arms possessively around Dean from behind as they stood there a moment while John stared daggers at his son and Jo stormed below deck. 

Sam dipped his head, dismissing both of them and buried his face against the side of Dean's neck. "We go home now?" He asked softly. 

"I don't have one anymore," Dean predicted, shards of ice splitting his heart at the disgust in his father's eyes. Taking Sam's hand, he started to walk away, back through town and out to the edges of the jungle.


	7. Chapter 7

Once they were in the jungle, Dean leaned against a tree and tugged Sam to him. In the moonlight, he could see the confusion in Sam's expression. "We talked about this. Sam, I explained. I have to go. I have duties, family. I have to leave... I love you. In my heart," he took Sam's hand and pressed it against his own heart, "I want to stay. But I can't." He paused for a moment. "Tomorrow morning, I'm leaving. I wish I could take you but that... what you saw there with my dad and Jo... that’s just a small sample of the _civilized_ behavior we'd be facing," he said bitterly.

Sam slowly shook his head as he stepped closer and wrapped an arm around Dean's waist. "Deean stay. Deean's duty to make Tarzan Sam happy," he grinned, leaning in and pressing a slow, lingering kiss, to Dean's lips before pulling his head back. "Deean family here... Cheeta and Tantor, family," he corrected, nodding toward the chimp and the elephant that were nearby and who were his constant companions. "Sam love Deean..." he took Dean’s hand and emulated him, pressing Dean’s hand over his own bare chest. "Deean home here now."

"It's complicated." Dean felt tears gather in his eyes. "I can't stay Sam. I'm sorry, but I can't."

Sam reached for the front of Dean’s shirt, gripping the stiff fabric in his tight fist. Grabbing another fistful of the shirt, Sam tugged Dean's body up against his own as he clenched his teeth, tears shining in the depths of his eyes. "No," he choked out. "No, Deean stay with Sam." 

"I can't... I just can't," Dean whispered, the pain etched in Sam's face and his broken plea making Dean’s own eyes swim with tears. Feeling helpless and not knowing how to make things better for Sam, how to make him understand, Dean wrapped his arms around Sam and burrowed his face under Sam's chin. "I love you, so much, love you, but I can't stay." 

Sam cried out in anguish and frustration before he shoved Dean back against the tree and slanted his mouth hungrily over Dean's, kissing him with everything he had, devouring his mouth and mapping it out. His hands rose to gently cup Dean's face, fingertips ghosting against Dean's skin as he held him, his body pressed teasingly against Dean's, hips cantering upward, wantonly thrusting his cock against Dean's.

He pulled one hand from the side of Dean's face and reached down, tucking his fingers under his lover's thigh and hefting his leg up so that Dean's leg wrapped around his waist as he continued to kiss and move against his lover's body, his motions desperate and needy. 

Sam slid his hand up Dean's thigh, to his hip, and up his side, to his face as they kissed. Suddenly, he hefted Dean up into his arms, pausing only to allow Dean to lock both legs around him, before he carried Dean deeper into the jungle, to a small clearing where the grasses were soft and thick. Gently, he laid Dean down ont he ground and straddled his body. His gaze locking intently onto his lover's, Sam reached for the fastenings of Dean’s shirt and began to unbutton them as carefully as he could.

That was when Dean's tears started rolling down his cheeks, the moment he realized Sam understood there was no changing his mind and that he really would be leaving to go to his own prim and proper world, where he'd need his clothes in one piece. Taking his glasses off, he set them close by and started to help Sam unbutton. 

"I'm sorry, Sam," he whispered huskily, swallowing hard as Sam's calloused hands skimmed over his chest. "Not for meeting you or loving you, but for making you sad. For letting you give me your heart. I should have known, I should have found a way to explain." Feeling Sam's lips ghosting over his collar bone, he closed his eyes and let out a breath. "Love me. One last time, Sam. Love me like you'll never forget."

Sam lifted his head and slowly shook it as he gazed down at Dean. He press a finger against his lover's lips for a moment before replacing it with his lips. He kissed Dean slowly, languidly, memorizing every nook and cranny, the feel and taste of Dean's kiss. Not because he believed that Dean would leave him, but to show him what he would be leaving behind, to prove to Dean that he could not leave, that he was loved and wanted, right here. 

Pushing himself up onto his hands and knees, Sam crawled his way back along Dean's body and began a slow seduction, kissing every inch of skin he uncovered as he worked Dean out of his shoes and socks, pants and undergarments. He kissed the soles of Dean's feet and sucked at his toes before licking upward along the tops of his feet, despite Dean's complaints and laughter when he tickled. Sam moved to his ankles; kissing and nipping at the tender flesh in his instep then up his legs, paying equal attention not only to the front, but to the backs of is legs as well as the inside of his thighs, which had Dean jumpy and gasping in soft breaths of air. 

Sam moved to Dean's stomach, licking his navel and nipping gently at the sensitive skin right under it, before moving to his chest, toying with and teasing each nipple. He kissed and nipped at Dean’s neck and shoulders, accidental leaving a small mark on Dean's throat when he'd sucked at the tender, pale flesh. 

Rolling Dean over, Sam then worked his way down Dean's back, kissing and licking a stripe down his lover's spine then moved on to his ass cheeks which he nipped gently before kissing. When he had Dean roll back over, Sam took his lover's cock into his mouth the same way Dean had done to him nearly three weeks ago.

The entire time Sam worshiped every inch of his body, loving him in a way that Dean never imagined he'd be loved by anyone, let alone someone he'd given his heart to and knowing this was the last time, he was emotional and fighting to commit every touch, every feeling coursing through him, to memory. When Sam's mouth suddenly closed around his cock, engulfing it in its wet heat, Dean shot up, then rested back down onto his elbows, his gaze focused on Sam's mouth. 

When Dean shot up and nearly flew away like a startled cockatiel Sam's attention lifted to his lover, looking up at Dean worriedly from under his brows as he continued to suck at his lover's cock; his mouth moving along Dean's length just the way his had Sam's when Dean had done this to him. His gaze slowly lowered once Dean seemed to relax again and simply reclined, watching him. 

Each time Sam sucked on him, it took Dean's breath away. He groaned softly, finally reaching out with one hand, massaging Sam's muscular shoulder and sliding his hand back and forth along the side of his neck. "In case I never told you, you're perfect, Sam," he whispered. "You're my perfect man." 

Sam wasn't completely sure what Dean meant so he chose to believe it was something good. He moaned softly as he continued to suck on his lover's dick and moving one hand to his lover's balls, squeezing them gently, just the way he remembered Dean pleasuring him. 

Dean started to thrust his hips, his eyes glazing over. "Good, so good," he whispered, shamelessly raising one leg and resting it on Sam's shoulder. Slowly, he came to the realization that the position helped him get some control and he put his other leg over Sam's shoulder, groaning at the sight of Sam between his thighs. "Oh God..." he groaned, laying flat and running his fingers through Sam's hair. He'd never forget how soft and silky his hair was and how much he loved touching it. He started to whisper again that he loved Sam, but the way Sam sucked him down deep into his throat, Dean's fingers suddenly clenched around Sam's hair. "Trying to kill me?" he asked, pulling his knees towards himself, forcing Sam closer.

Sam's eyes lifted curiously to Dean's faces unsure of what he'd done wrong. But seeing Dean’s expression, his lips quirked upward at the corner into an impish smirk and he mumbled softly, his attempt to speak vibrating against Dean's cock as he continued to suck and drag his mouth up and down its length. 

Slowly, Sam pulled his head back, the motion causing Dean's legs to fall away from his shoulders as he reached for the sides of his loincloth, pushing it down and off his body then crawled forward over Dean, dragging his own hard cock purposefully across his lover's body. Reaching down between their bodies, Sam wrapped his hand around his own dick and struggled to align the blunt tip of his cock to Dean's hole. He pulled back after a moment, releasing his dick and reaching for Dean's leg, lifting it and tossing it up over his shoulder, exposing the tightly puckered skin of Dean’s hole. Leaning back over Dean, Sam reached down between them again, pressing the tip of his dripping cock against his lover's hole, teasing him.

The position they were in was so damned intimate. Once, Dean would have been blushing through the whole thing. Now, he might be slightly flushed, but nudity no longer felt completely awkward, especially in front of Sam. Nothing was off limits between them. It was a freedom, a gift he'd never imagined, not even in his wildest fantasies. His eyes half closed as he felt Sam preparing to enter him, his cock teasing his entrance. 

"Kiss me Sam. Kiss me right now," Dean whispered, wanting Sam's mouth on his as he breached him.

Pushing his hips forward, Sam eased his cock past the first ring of muscle as he leaned far over his lover, stretching to slant his mouth over Dean's, only to fall short of his goal. Instead, he dipped his head and pressed soft, open-mouth kisses against Dean's chest, his tongue darting out and swirling against warm tender skin. He thrust his hips forward, pushing his dick deeper into his lover. Releasing his hold on his cock as his length slipped past the second ring of muscle, Sam reached up and slipped his hand under the back of Dean's head. He cupped the back of his lover's neck, lifting it as he stretched and with a grunt of exertion, slanted his mouth over Dean's. 

Dean groaned at the pain of penetration, but the light drags of Sam's wet tongue over his chest and the heat of his mouth brushing over him soothed him, comforted him. When Sam was as deep inside him as he could get, Dean let out a breath and met Sam's lips, kissing him, tangling his tongue with Sam's. Was he really going to give this up? It wasn't just the pleasures of the flesh but the closeness. The kissing, the holding, the joy of being with Sam, seeing things he'd never see back home, in a way that no one he knew would see things. 

He started to grind his ass against Sam's hips, pulsing and squeezing his inner muscles, tempting Sam to make love to him, to take him. "Make me yours," he mumbled against the sweetest lips he'd ever taste. "Love me. Love me, Sam." 

Sam groaned. He gazed wantonly down at his lover through hooded lids as he thrust his hips against Dean's ass, the sharp pleasure causing a low breathless moan to tumble from between his lips. His breaths panted out as he gazed into Dean's face and they breathed in one anothers’ breaths, speaking to each other with just their eyes. Then he crushed his mouth over Dean’s, kissing him with all of his love, all of his desire. He ravished Dean's mouth and slowly mapped it out before tangling their tongues together, devouring every stroke of his lover's tongue, his every sigh, while undulating his hips and thrusting rhythmically into his lover’s tight ass. 

They fit together so well, moved together in unison, loved each other, spoke to each other without words. It didn't matter that they were from different worlds, that they barely spoke each others' language. Dean moved against Sam, pushing and pulling his legs, which were locked at his ankles behind Sam's back, groaning each time Sam hit his prostate just right. When Sam's mouth slipped from his so they could take a breath, he whispered, "Don't know how I'm gonna do this. Don't know how I'm gonna leave you. Love you so much Sam. Wish I could explain it." He caressed Sam's shoulders, the side of his neck, kissing him again as he felt the heat between them intensify. He fought it, struggled to keep things slow, to make this last. 

Sam shifted slightly and lifted a hand to Dean's face, pressing a finger against his lover's lips as he shook his head. "Dean stay," he argued gently, voice barely audible.

He pulled his finger away and leaned in, capturing his lover's lips in another long, languid kiss, one that elicited moans and soft groans from them both of them as they moved together as one. He moved his hand downward along Dean's side and his hand tucked up under his lover's hip, pulling Dean up against him with each thrust, driving himself deeper and deeper. 

Dean gave a dry sob, then sucked Sam's tongue into his mouth, trying to push away reality and lose himself in the fantasy that he could do what Sam said, just leave his old life behind and stay with him. As Sam started to thrust harder and faster, Dean used his legs to drag him closer, clenching his inner muscles around Sam's cock, increasing the friction. It was so good, so good between them. 

Dean clawed at Sam, touching him everywhere, then searching for Sam's hand, he grasped it. His cock ached, leaked against his stomach. Placing their joint hands around it, Dean started to pump to the rhythm Sam was fucking him. He started to make sounds, broken moans and grunts, coming faster and sounding deeper as he got closer to the edge. He started to thrash, his legs might have slipped off Sam's shoulders if Sam hadn't been that strong. "Ungh..." he jerked his hips up, grinding his ass against Sam's hips then squeezing his eyes shut, he broke his mouth free and shouted, "Sam!" As Sam's name broke from the back of his throat, ropes of cum shot from him, glazing both their hands and Sam's chest. 

Sam lifted his head with a soft gasp as he watched Dean come, groaning out his own pleasure as his lover's inner muscles squeezed him tight. He grunted and dipped his head, kissing along Dean's throat and declaring his love,telling Dean he belonged to him now, and thrusting his hips in short, fast, erratic motions. His muscles suddenly tensed, his teeth clenching together, his eyes squeezing tightly closed as his head pulled back. Lips parting, "Dean," he rasped hoarsely as he began to come. 

"Yeah... yeah, Sam. Love you... love you with my heart," Dean answered Sam's soft words, memorizing the ecstasy in his expression as Sam came deep inside him. He kept rocking softly, pushing against Sam, milking his cock. "You're beautiful, my beautiful wild man," he murmured, running his hand over Sam's face, tracing the line of his jaw and the outline of his lips. "I want what you want, but I can't... can't..." he said, on the verge of a sob which he squelched by pulling Sam down and kissing him again. He felt wetness on his cheeks and on his chest and wasn't sure whether it was his tears or Sam’s. "Always in my heart Sam, always," he promised.

Sam slowly pulled his head back and blinked the blurriness from his eyes as he gazed down at Dean. Lifting a hand he wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand and sniffled softly before lifting his gaze. 

"Tantor up," Sam commanded, looking into the jungle. "Tantor come, Tantor up," he repeated with a jut of his chin. 

The elephant slowly became visible from between the trees and came lumbering toward them, stopping next to them. 

Sam quickly gathered up his lover and his lover's clothes and wrapped his arms tightly around Dean then looked back over his shoulder at the elephant and nodded. "Tantor up," he instructed. 

The elephant lowered his head and walked forward, effectively slipping its tusks gently underneath Sam and Dean as Sam pulled his lover into his arms. The animal cradled the two of them in its tusks as it lifted its head and began to walk deeper into the jungle. 

"Deean stay with Sam," Sam murmured, sliding his hand down Dean's side and grasping his hand within his own. "Sam love Deean," he whispered and dipped his head, kissing his lover's neck. 

"You know it's not manly to cry," Dean said, but what the hell, he'd already lost the battle. His entire body shook but he gripped Sam's hand and used his other hand to make Sam look at him. 

"Stop. Tantor has to take me back. I have to go, Sam. I want to stay, but I _can't. I just... can't._ " Closing his arm around Sam, swaying with the elephant's movements, he practically crushed Sam. "Please. Tell Tantor to put us down. I need to go, to leave."

 

Sam stared at Dean as though he’d gone insane. He hadn't truly believe that Dean would leave. He'd planned to woo Dean, to show him that he was loved and needed here. To take him home with him and offer him gifts like he had seen villagers shower on their loves. He’d believed with all of his heart that, in the end, Dean would love him back enough to want to stay. 

Now, staring into Dean’s eyes, Sam knew he was never going to get the chance to finish what he’d set out to do. Had he not done something right? Had what they'd shared not been good enough for Dean? 

Sam’s features hardened into an emotionless mask as he pulled his attention away from Dean and spoke only to the elephant. "Tantor halt. Tantor down," he commanded in an unusually harsh tone.

When the elephant paused in its steps and lowered his head so that they could stand. Sam withdrew his hand from Dean's waist and waited for Dean to rise to his feet.

Dean had immediately noticed the change come over Sam. Felt him withdraw. "Sam, it's not like that. I don't want to," he explained, sniffing. The silence was deafening. Dean stood up on the ground, and stretched his hand out, asking for Sam's. "Stay with me tonight. Don't... don't let it end this way," he whispered, begging with his eyes.

Sam's gaze lowered from Dean's face to the hand he held out to him. "No one force you. You want stay, be with Sam, you stay. You want leave, you leave," Sam responded, his words clipped. 

When Dean made no move toward him, Sam shook his head, "I hope Deean very happy with yellow haired girl and father," he offered stonily.   
A muscle twitched in his jaw, "Maybe white ape belong with animals. They never leave when they claim want stay," he said dismissively before turning his head away and gave Tantor the command to lift and start walking. 

In shock, Dean watched open mouthed as the elephant took Sam out of his reach. "Sa--" His mouth snapped shut as his clothes were thrown down to him, his glasses wrapped up in his shirt. 

Catching them, he looked down at his feet, hurting. "I love you." He looked up and called out, "I _do_ love you, and I know you can hear me! Sam!" Dropping his clothes and starting to get dressed, he mumbled under his breath, a little angry, or trying to find some anger to take the edge off the pain that would never, ever go away.. 

*

An hour later, after several cups of strong spirits, Dean stumbled into his father's room at the boarding house. Refusing to answer any questions, he headed for the bed, fell face forward on it, and closed his eyes, shutting out the real world, and re-living his last moments with Sam, playing them over and over in his mind, like a moving picture, always cutting the film strip off before the heart wrenching ending. 

He'd had his moment in the sun, and now that it was over, he was alone and the man he loved hated him. One way or another, he always seemed to earn people's disdain. Only this time, he’d earned it. 

* * *

Sam never turned back when Dean called to him. He couldn't as the tears rolled unchecked down his cheeks. Instead he'd found himself tucking his face in against the elephant, even as his shoulders shook with his soft sobs and as his heart shattered into a million tiny pieces. 

He didn't understand why anyone would leave. The animals never left. The nearby villagers never left. The only ones who left did not belong here in the first place, but he’d told Dean over and over that Dean had a home here now, that he had a place in Sam’s heart, that they were a family.

By the time he and Tantor reached his treehouse, he was all out of tears, only dry sobs racking his frame as he rolled away from the elephant onto the ground and curled up into a ball. He hadn't bothered to pull on his loincloth which now lay in the dirt at his side. 

Cheeta tried to get him to move, to budge, but he ignored her and continued to make horrible wounded sounds deep in his throat. As night settled into early morning and the wind kicked up, goose flesh broke out on Sam's skin and still he didn't move a muscle. 

Cheeta screeched and poked at him, then went into the treehouse. Returning with a blanket, she whimpered softly as she covered him and then sat down next to him on the ground, staring worriedly out into the night while picking through his hair.

* * *

Tumba knocked on their door, waking them up before dawn. Dean rolled out of bed, his head feeling heavy, like it had been struck by a boulder. When the oil lamps were lit, and he'd gotten dressed and moved downstairs to have breakfast, he felt his father's gaze on him. Each time their eyes met, his father looked away, his fingers drumming on the table. 

Barely able to stomach his breakfast, Dean got up and asked Tumba if he could help with any cargo that needed carrying aboard. He was told 'no,' and shaking hands with the man, he headed out of the boarding house, but not before hearing Jo's gasp and noticing her gaze lingering on his throat. 

He gave her an almost malicious smile, recalling how Sam had sucked on him there and knowing he must have left a bruise. Then he was out, in the pitch black of night lit up only by a few oil lamps that showed the way to the ship.

*

The months long passage back to America was hard and lonely for Dean. A few weeks into it, his father did start to talk to him, but their conversation was stilted. Nothing would ever be the same again now that what had only been a father's suspicions had proven to be the truth. Jo no longer hounded him, but he had to admit he sometimes missed her company. When she hadn't been pursuing her goal of marriage, she'd always been entertaining. Now she wanted nothing to do with him. He knew it could end here, or she could spread gossip about him.

The fear of a damaged reputation clearly haunted his father, but for himself, Dean almost didn't care at all. He felt dead on the inside. The only times he was alive was in his own mind, in his memories. He kept mostly to himself, reading, writing in his journal, or drawing depictions of his adventures with Sam. He often wondered what his wild man was doing. Did Sam miss him as much as Dean missed Sam? Or had his anger burned out his love? Frankly, Dean didn't know which to wish for. 

One good bit of news was that, with her father having passed away, Jo was in control of her family’s fortunes. She’d decided to forgive John Winchester's debt and was hiring him on as her advisor. Sometimes watching her with his father, Dean thought she was the _son_ his father had always wanted. They spoke of profit, or business, and of hunting and adventure. The word 'book' never slipped from their lips. Yeah, it was more than that she'd taken his place in his family, it was like she actually belonged, whereas he never really had. 

Looking out over the railing of the deck, in the direction he figured that his heart and his _real home_ lay, Dean whispered words that were snatched by the wind. "I hope you're happy. I hope the monkeys are keeping you busy, stealing your things and making you chase them. I hope you never lose your freedom, that you live your life the way you always have. I hope you can ... that you will forgive me someday. That you're not only sorry for having met me."

* * *

Time passed and, at first Sam didn't get any better. With the day came the blistering African sun that seared his skin and raised blisters along his body. His lips cracked and bled and still he did nothing but lay there, uncaring about the pain of his body when the pain in his heart was so much worse. He’d never experienced anything like this before. The last time he’d suffered loss had been when he was but an infant and it was something he didn't remember. 

Eventually, Cheeta, Tantor and the other animals of the jungle nursed Sam back to health, dressing him and feeding him, cleaning him up and getting him back onto his feet. Sam began to go through the motions of living, though he didn’t stray far from the tree house. He didn’t laugh or smile any more. He made a trek to Howick Falls and stood at the top looking down over them for a long moment, though he wasn't seeing the sheer 310 foot drop. Instead he saw dirty blond hair and spectacles, full lips and a smile that made his heart sing. He saw himself and Dean laying in his bed looking at his parents’ things and laughing, kissing, touching, loving. He saw the life he’d wanted, that he’d thought Dean wanted too. 

Sam took a small step toward the side of the rock on which he stood and closed his eyes. With Dean's image firmly embedded in his mind, he allowed himself to fall over the side and down the 310 drop toward the pool below, where, according to local legend, a giant serpent-like creature known as Inkanyamba resided. 

No one really knew what happened for certain after that. Only that Sam, Tarzan the ape man, was never seen again. Some say that the Great White Ape was killed. Others say he died slowly of broken heart disease. While others still, claim that he'd simply never been real.


	8. Chapter 8

[11 Months Later]

The sun was just starting to rise and the skies over the West African coastline were streaked with rich reds and golds. It was a breathtaking sight. 

Dean had never anticipated how much he’d miss this place. Even at busy ports, like the one they’d soon be docking at, people seemed to have time to stop and talk. They didn't look right through you or shrug you off because they had bigger fish to fry. Now that he was here to stay, he'd learn a language or two, maybe offer to teach English or French in return. So many plans... so many ideas floated around in his mind. He’d had time, lots of it, during the long trip, to think. 

Standing against the railing, Dean looked beyond the edge of the coast, to the dark jungles beyond. The man who'd stolen his heart was out there somewhere. Was a year enough time for Sam to find forgiveness in his heart? Just thinking of Sam, crouching low, his hair plastered across his face, making those funny sounds... and flashing that devastating smile, Dean's heart ached. 

He'd wasted so much time being away. He'd tried to fit into his society again, but all he could ever think about was how much he felt like a prisoner. Like he could only laugh at things others approved of, march to their beat, or risk shunning. 

His father had withdrawn completely from him. All Dean got from the man was coldness, or worse, moments when John Winchester's eyes would soften, and Dean was sure his father was thinking of the past, of him as a boy, before he'd disappointed him. 

Jo came around quite often. She was engaged and happy and flaunted it. On the surface, she seemed to be civil towards him, though it was only because they didn’t understand her double entendres and sometimes malicious digs. Though he smiled right through it, they cut him deep. 

The one spot of sunshine in everything was his mother. She loved him unconditionally. She might not understand why he was the way he was, but she wanted his happiness and never made him feel less than a man. And now, by choosing to leave America, he'd broken her heart. 

The ship was nearing the dock. 

He blinked away thoughts of yesterday and only thought about tomorrows. His heart started to beat faster. Soon he'd be in the arms of the man he dreamed about, and in a house which had no walls to imprison him. 

* * * 

"Porter! Porter! Mr. you need a porter?"

Intending on making this his home, Dean had brought a few crates of things. "Yes," Dean nodded at one of the men offering their services. "Do you know Tumba? Can you call him?"

The man gave an eager nod. "Tumba back at nightfall," he said. "Take things to boarding house?"

"Yeah. That'll be fine." He struck a bargain, agreeing to pay the porter after his things were delivered to the boarding house, then he headed for the boardinghouse to arrange one night's accommodation. He’d need to hire Tumba, or someone else, to guide him to Sam's tree house and to transport his things.

*

Dean was having a drink at the small tavern in the boarding house when Tumba walked in. Getting up from the barstool, Dean gave the man a light hug. "Bet you thought you'd seen the last of me."

"Leaving is easy, staying away … that is hard," Tumba answered, giving a rumbling laugh, then sitting down and accepting the drink placed in front of him. "No expedition?"

"No expedition." Taking a drink, Dean set his cup down. "I need a guide. You, if you're available." He knew Tumba was aware that Tarzan was Sam, a white man, not a white ape, though Tumba and some of the men he worked with had their fun weaving tales about the great white ape because it was good for business. "I need someone to take me and my belongings to Ezich Falls." It was the waterfall close to Tarzan's tree house.

"And then?"

"And then?" Dean asked, not understanding the question.

"You want to be left there?" Tumba bodily turned toward Dean and put a hand on his shoulder. "You seek Tarzan?"

"Yeah. I seek Tarzan," Dean admitted. It was no secret that he and Sam were close, that they'd taken beatings for each other and that Sam had saved him. Probably a lot more was known, but he didn't care, and Tumba didn't seem to care either, or he hadn't put things together like his own family had.

"Tarzan is gone."

"Gone where? I'll wait for him," Dean said, knowing his wild man liked to travel the jungles. 

"No. He is gone. Passed to the spirit world. Dead."

"What?!" Dean felt like he'd been punched in the face. "Where? When? How?" It couldn't be, it just couldn't. Sam had been so full of life, so strong. He could battle a water snake, command elephants and monkeys, how could he be dead? "Tell me," he demanded. "Where is he buried?"

"Drink," Tumba told him, shoving the glass toward Dean and waiting for him to take a drink before he told his tale. "It is told that after your expedition left, Tarzan disappeared. A few who saw him, the say he was not eating, was burned... on his face..." he waved his hand over his face. "We have not heard his calls, not at all. It is said he fell, or jumped from the Howick Falls. If he survived the fall, then Inkanyamba got him."

Dean's mouth went dry. He knocked back his drink and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "Maybe he survived."

"No, nothing could."

"You don't know Sam like I know him." The look he got from Tumba challenged his statement. "What is an Inkanyamba, tell me everything. And I still want a guide, to both falls," he said.

"I will take you to Ezich Falls, but no one goes to Howick Falls in this season. There are flash floods, it is not safe."

"Then you'll tell me everything, including how to get there," Dean said with finality, getting up. "The merchant shop that sells maps and compasses, is it open this late?" At Tumba's nod, he told the man to meet him in the morning, and took off to get some supplies.

* * *

After Tumba left him at Ezich Falls, Dean took a few of his things and practically ran to the tree house. Dropping his things at its base, he climbed like a madman. 

No matter what Tumba and the others told him, he couldn't accept that Sam was gone. It just... it didn't register as true. 

 

That was, until he found the tree house empty, a thick layer of dust on everything, the flowers in a coconut shell vase turning to dust, and a platter of rotted and dried up fruit. No one had been here for a very long time.

Still, Dean clamped down on the feelings threatening to overtake him. Pushing them down, he stripped off his shirt and went to work, cleaning the place up. It took hours for him to get through it all, cleaning three layers of platforms. Then he'd had to haul his crates up using the rope pulley Sam had devised. By the time he was done, he was sweating all over. He opened one of the crates and started to pull out a few things, putting them away. 

He was doing fine, holding it together. Or so he thought, until he started to unpack some bedding and mosquito netting. Then it struck him hard, that this place he'd intended to make his home, that it might never be home. If Sam was gone. If he was dead, or in other parts of Africa, if he never came back, then Dean really would have no home, and more importantly no family. 

"No!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, dropping down onto his knees on the bedding. "No, I won't accept that. I won't. Saaaaam!"

His shouts were lost in the sudden shower of waters breaking from the heavens. Crawling into the bedding, laying on his stomach and watching the downpour, he remembered making love in the rain. Remembered Sam taking care of him. Laughing with him, tickling him. Tears started to track down his cheeks. 

Pulling his glasses off, Dean wiped at them. This couldn't be the end. It wouldn't. He wasn't going to live the rest of his life living in the past. He would find Sam, he'd bring him back, he'd agree to stay chained until Sam trusted him, if that was necessary, but he was not coming back here alone. Come tomorrow, he would go to Howick Falls, fight Inkanyamba, if he had to, but he'd bring Sam back.

* * *

It took Dean a week to find the Falls, or he hoped it was the right falls. There were no signs, no people to ask. The area was abandoned during this season for good reason, he'd found out when a downpour had suddenly resulted in a flash flood. He'd barely had time to climb a tree, then he’d had to hold on for hours on end as the water pushed and bent it over, threatening to uproot it and take him with it.

A few times, during his travels, he'd felt as if he was being watched. The feeling came from somewhere above, and he'd looked up at the trees, but there had been nothing. Or maybe it was monkeys. 

Now he was at the very edge of the cliff jutting out next to the falls. The place where Tarzan had last been seen. Cupping his mouth, he called out. "Sam. Sam! Saaaam!!!" Sometimes he interspersed his calls for Sam with calls for his constant companions, the two monkeys and the elephant. By nightfall, his throat was raw, and he'd gotten nowhere.

He set up camp, lighting a fire and preparing a bedroll. In the morning, he would make the climb down to the lake and search for Sam down there.

*

Dean was startled awake by strange sounds. A rustling in the trees, coming closer. Sitting up, he rubbed his bleary eyes and put on his spectacles and stared into the dark jungle. The sound came again, this time accompanied by a low, threatening snarl. Now that had him scrambling up and searching for the handgun he'd brought. He was bent over and reaching for it when a tiger emerged from the jungle, crouching low.

Shocked, Dean didn't dare to move. There was nowhere to run, because like an idiot, he'd camped close to the edge of the cliffs. Even if he managed to shoot the tiger with the hand gun, it was unlikely he would be able to stop the animal with something less than a rifle. 

This could not be the end of his story, he thought, looking over his shoulder at the falls, wondering if he could do it, go the way Sam had last been seen.

Eyes from within the jungle thicket tightened, darting between the man and the jungle cat, watching warily. Sam had been unable to believe his eyes when Cheeta had come to get him earlier, but now he was only curious, not understanding why it was that the man who’d crushed his heart had returned. 

The monkey that chirped and squawked at his side before climbing up his body had Sam glancing over at the animal briefly before returning his attention to Dean. Lifting his hands to his mouth, he made a soft sound blowing out air from between his lips through his hands, a sound that caught the tiger’s attention and had the jungle cat turning back. 

Seeing the tiger turn away, Dean grabbed the gun and took the safety off, his heart hammering when the tiger turned back toward him and took a step. Dean took a step back, then another, crouching a little in an attempt to show he was not a threat. He licked his lips and hoped with all his heart that the animal would turn around and go away.

Cheeta screeched loudly and jumped off Sam's shoulder just before the tiger took off at a run toward Dean as a deep cat-like cry tore from its throat. The monkey bounced excitedly in place as the jungle cat charged its prey, chasing Dean straight toward the edge of the falls. 

Sam burst out of the thicket and ran across the distance separating him from Dean. Just a split second before Dean toppled backward over the edge of the cliff, he wrapped an arm around Dean and planted his feet, rubble tumbling over the edge in his wake. His chest rose and fell heavily from exertion and his gaze met and locked with Dean's as he held him safely pressed up against his body. 

Dean was sure his feet had left the ground, that he'd been falling when Sam's strong arm wrapped around him and pulled him back, though the tiger had taken a dive over the edge. His heart pounded against his chest, even as he felt Sam's heart beating against his. 

It was too dark to be able to read Sam's eyes, but one thing that Dean knew was that he was safe, always safe, with Sam. He licked his lips and gave a small smile. "Why do I always have to play _damsel in distress_ to get you to come out of hiding?"

Sam didn't answer Dean's question, only pulled him carefully away from the falls then slowly released him, his arm falling to his side. He gazed at Dean another minute, having thought that he would never see him again. He took a step back from Dean then turned and jogged back toward the tree line. He paused there briefly, glancing back at Dean once more before ducking into the darkness of the jungle and disappearing amongst the greenery.

"Wait! Sam... Sam?" Dean dropped the gun onto his bedding and followed Sam into the jungle. Except for the loud buzzing of insects, it was quiet. "Sam?" He said a little more hesitantly. "Cheetah?" The silence was resounding.

He took a deep breath. "I know you can hear me. I know you're here," he said, turning slowly around, searching for any signs of movement. "I'm sorry. For leaving. For thinking the right thing to do was what I'd been taught, when I knew I'd been taught wrong. Sam... please come out," he begged, turning around again, hoping, and then closing his eyes. "Dean is Sam's. Dean is Sam's. Dean is Sam's," he repeated, starting on a whisper but speaking louder as he went. 

"Deean leave," Sam replied from the shadows. 

Looking in the direction Sam's voice came from, Dean nodded. "I left. I came back. I want to stay... stay with Sam, for always. I love you," he said, feeling a little foolish since no one was around him.

"Deean speak love still leave...now change? Why? Why should Sam believe Deean's words?" Sam questioned.

"Because I'm not a liar." Dean took a step toward the voice. "I never told you I was staying before, Sam. Now I'm telling you, I came back, and I mean to stay with you, here. To never leave." He paused a moment. "Because I miss you. I need you. You're my family."

Sam didn't answer Dean for a long moment, emotions warring within him. Anger, hurt, relief, love and maybe even a little joy. He had been the one to tell Dean that he had family here before Dean had left him, before he had abandoned him. Now, Sam wasn't certain if he could forgive the pain that Dean had caused. A part of him had died the day Dean had left. 

"You stay, maybe you need Cheeta teach you how to survive," Sam suggested before turning away. 

"Sam!" Dean walked deeper into the jungle. "Wait. Please." Finally seeing Sam, he quickly moved up behind him and put his arms lightly around his waist, feeling him tense, but afraid that if he let him go, Sam would slip away forever. "Stay. Stay with me. Love me again. Forgive me," he whispered, his voice growing thick with emotion. "Give me a chance."

Sam slowly turned his head to the side, looking back at Dean, "How does it feel to be the one asking to stay?" He bit out the words in broken English before reaching for Dean's hands and gently pulling them open from around his waist. 

"About as bad as it feels to say 'no.' You think I wanted to go, Sam? Did I look like I wanted it?" Lifting his hands to his side, he dropped them. "If you don't want me, I'll let you go. But first, tell me 'Sam doesn't love Dean.' Say it, and I'll leave you alone," he promised, a lump rising in his throat. 

Sam turned to face Dean. "No one forced you. You leave on own. _You_ leave Sam. Sam offer you all I have..." he huffed and shook his head dejectedly. He hung his head a moment before lifting it and looking into Dean's face, his features a hard and unforgiving mask. 

"Sam no love D---" he began only to clamp his mouth closed, his lips pulling into a tight flat line. "The Tarzan you knew is dead," he murmured instead before turning on his heels and striding away from Dean.

"Well Dean still loves Sam!" Dean yelled, "Do you hear me? Fine. I'm going home. To _our_ home. When you get tired of ... of this, of being alone, you know where to find me. If I haven't been eaten by a snake. Or poisoned by a frog. Or been torn apart by a tiger, you know how the jungle animals love me. I’m that irresistible." 

Long after Sam was gone, Dean kept up his stupid jokes with only the jungle insects as an audience. It was either joking or crying, and right now, Dean was all out of tears.

* * *

Sam had made it a point to stay well away from his old home, the tree house. Or to keep at least a good few hundred yards away where Dean wouldn't see him. 

This night, Sam climbed up the side of the tree, moving as silently as Selena the serpent would slither out of the water to catch her prey. Stepping inside the tree hut, he moved to the back area, where Dean was asleep on his bed.

He watched Dean, his heart aching with his desire to go to Dean, to touch him and hold him in his arms. He thought about the night, a week ago, when he’d caught Dean, saving him from going over the side of the falls the same way he’d held him so long ago. Sam hadn't wanted to let go, every fiber of his being had screamed at him to hold onto the man, to cling to him and to hold him close. Hell, to bind him to his bed if he had to. In the end, Sam had been unwilling to force Dean to remain and was too afraid that he’d abandon him once again. So. with a heavy, distrusting heart, he’d let him go. 

Dean felt something. A presence. That had him sitting up with a start and peering into the darkness, his heart pounding. What he saw was Sam's silhouette. He was standing at the edge of the platform, arms crossed, as stiff as he'd been days ago, when Dean had been forced to make the trek back from the falls all alone. 

"You're not a tree climbing hyena with razor sharp teeth," Dean said. "Guess that means I shouldn't be afraid of being eaten."

"Sleep," Sam murmured gently. "Sam watch Deean." 

"Is this a visit, then?" Dean asked, afraid that if he moved suddenly, Sam would disappear again.

"Sam watch Deean," Sam repeated, his gaze intent on the man before him.

"I see." Searching the floor next to the bedding, Dean retrieved his spectacles and put them on. Sitting, he scooted back until his back touched the tree trunk and he leaned against it, placing his feet flat on the floor. "Dean watch Sam," he said, unsure how long this game would go on, but knowing he wanted, more than anything, for Sam to stay. 

Sam pressed his lips together in frustration as his eyes tightened to mere slits and he stared Dean down. With a huff of exasperation he turned and crossed the short distance to the edge of the platform, jumping off and disappearing into the jungle. 

"Damn!" Putting his head back against the trunk, Dean tried to see the bright side. Sam hadn't been able to deny he still loved him. And he'd obviously followed him back. It had to mean there was something there, that they could put it back together, what they'd had. Only how? 

* * * 

The next morning, standing on the edge of the tree house’s platform, Dean searched the area using a pair of binoculars. He was disappointed, but not surprised, that he couldn't find any sign of Sam. 

The entire time that he fixed his breakfast, frying up four, not two eggs, and some bacon, over the fire pit, he hoped the smell would bring Sam over to investigate. His hopes were for naught.

When he climbed out of the tree house, and dropped to the ground, he had a basket hanging over one arm. He put the basket down at the base of the tree and arranged its contents. There was a covered plate with the breakfast he'd cooked up. Somehow, he didn't think Sam would insist on a hot breakfast. Then there was a small bowl of assorted candies he'd brought with him. He included some flowers which he'd used to perfume the house, and an interesting looking dagger. 

Tying some netting over the basket, and hoping Sam would get to the basket before the monkeys or other jungle residents did, he stood up. After one last look around, he headed into the jungle, away from the tree house.

* * * 

Sam watched and waited until Dean was long gone before creeping out of the hiding place that he knew there was no way Dean would ever find. With a glance in the direction in which Dean had taken off, Sam reached for the basket and pulled back the netting. He nosed through the contents, fingers pushing items aside and smearing through food that he brought to his lips and sucked clean before deciding that it was good enough to take. His gaze darted again toward where he had last seen Dean, then tossed the basket over an arm and hurried over to a vine hanging low off one of the tree branches and swung himself up into the tree. Sitting down on a tree branch with his back against the trunk, he could see the tree house yard area directly below him and into the tree house across from him. 

Soon, he pulled out items of food and began to eat the breakfast Dean had left behind for him, feeding pieces to Cheetah and dropping dollops down nearly onto Tantor's head for the supposedly stealthy elephant to eat.

* * *

It was late afternoon, when Dean returned from the village, carrying a satchel of food supplies. The first thing he noticed was that the basket was gone. Looking around, he called out, "Sam? Sam!" Course all he got back was the sound of silence. 

Still, hope flared in his chest. And no, he wasn't going to think about the possibility that someone or something other than Sam had gotten to the basket.

As he neared the tree house, Dean noticed a few pieces of his candy offerings were on the ground, as if discarded. Picking them up, he made a great show of taking the paper wrapping off, putting it in his mouth, and giving satisfied "Mmm... mmmm" sounds. Maybe his next gift of candy wouldn't be ignored.

Hot and sweaty from his journey, after putting away his purchases, Dean headed for the lagoon. Dropping the bar of soap onto the sandy breach, he started to take his clothes off. 

Acutely aware that Sam might be nearby, perhaps watching, his heart started to race. He didn't look back to the tree line, but was positioned so that his side faced it. If Sam was there, he'd see him. All of him. 

Slowly, he unbuttoned his shirt, then left it hanging as he started to unfasten his pants. He was feeling foolish, and it was hard forcing himself to make a show of it. He'd just barely gotten used to allowing Sam to see him without his clothes, when he'd left for a year. 

No, he could do this. He could get his man's interest back. He'd do whatever it took.

He took his time toeing his boots off, then sliding his shirt off his shoulders. Then he worked his pants off, and stepped out of them, in his shorts. He ought to take those off too, but his fingers felt numb. Instead, he grabbed his clothes and the soap and walked slowly into the water. 

*

Sam sat up in his tree near the lagoon, his attention fixed on Dean now that he'd returned. His brow furrowed when he watched Dean eat the brightly colored things that he had tossed down, unable to understand why anyone would wish to chew on something like that. Now he saw that the outer shell came off. When Dean moaned and groaned in appreciation as he chewed the small morsel, Sam pulled his head back in surprise, his eyes widening slightly. He would most definitely have to try that again the next time he saw the bright colored items within reach. 

He started to sit back, toying with the flowers that he'd found in the basket. He stuck one in his hair, behind his ear. Then he did the same for Cheeta, twisting the stem around her tiny ear to hold it in place. 

He held the stem of another flower between his teeth and rolled it lazily against his lip with his tongue. His eyes tracked Dean as he went about putting the items he’d brought back with him away, and chuckling softly with the monkey beside as they watched Dean do things the hard way, instead of using the vines or recruiting the help of the animals around the tree house. 

He was busily messing with Cheeta as they teased one another when he caught sight of Dean headed toward the lagoon. His movements slowed and his attention became riveted on the man as he stood at the shoreline and slowly began to remove his clothes. 

Bit by bit, piece by piece, his lover's body was revealed to him with aching slowness. A sight he had thought he'd never get to see again. His mouth wet dry, his breaths hitching and then panting softly out. He scooted slightly forward on the branch, ignoring Cheeta who screeched and covered her own eyes. 

Swallowing hard, Sam's gaze roamed over every inch of Dean's body, his hands gripping tree branch so tightly that his fingertips turned white. His palms burned with need to touch his love again. His cock twitched beneath the soft material of his loincloth and bulged against the fabric. He caught his bottom lip between his teeth in an attempt not to make a sound, though a soft barely there whimper tore from deep in his throat, despite his efforts.

In the water, Dean started to wash his clothes, lathering them up, blowing away some of the suds. If Sam was around, surely this would intrigue him? Maybe he ought to stop worrying about whether Sam was watching, and just get what needed to be done, done. 

It was said easier than done, because Dean’s mind kept slipping back to Sam. He walked nearer some boulders, where the water was more shallow, and started to wash the clothes more earnestly, then squeezed the soap out of them, letting the suds slide over his body. Sometimes he'd rub the suds into his body, telling himself he was just washing himself, not putting on a show.

Once all of his clothes were washed and spread out on the boulder to dry, Dean walked closer to shore and lathered the soap over every inch of his exposed skin, up to the waistband of his shorts, then his thighs to his knees. Then he started to soap over his shorts, dipping his hand inside to also get his skin clean, his eyes slipping closed as he wondered what it would be like if Sam were standing behind him, taking the soap away and finishing the task. 

Sam gasped in a soft breath at the sight before him, his love's body clearly visible even beneath the white material of his wet clothes. In a moment of sheer craziness and lust he almost swung down out of the tree and went to Dean. Almost. 

Then he remembered what it had been like to love this man with his body and heart, his mind and soul, and how Dean had walked away from him. Sam’s jaw clenched and his face no longer showed his interest as he jumped down from his place in the tree, uncaring that he was giving up his hiding place and that Dean would see him. He stood gazing at Dean for a moment, his eyes locked on Dean's, before he turned and walked into the jungle. 

Staring at Sam's retreating back, Dean flushed. He wasn't sure if he was embarrassed at having pulled a cheap trick, or just embarrassed for... yeah, what difference did it make? It hadn't worked, it hadn't lured Sam to him. 

Suddenly, the thought of swimming around for a while lost its allure. He walked out of the water and grabbed the sheet he'd left hanging off a branch and used it to dry himself. 

Then he climbed back up to the tree house and stayed there, reading a book and nursing his hurt.


	9. Chapter 9

It was evening. Dean spread a cloth out on the ground, near the tree house and set a basked on it. Once again, he left Sam some presents. Some sweet corn on the cob that he'd boiled. A few fruits, though he knew Sam could pick fruit for himself and that the gift might mean nothing. He also packed a couple more wrapped candies, and some Fig Newtons. He didn’t know anyone who could resist those.

Dean hesitated for a few minutes, then went ahead and dropped the rolled up piece of paper that he’d tied with a ribbon, into the basket. If he found that stomped on or tossed away, there was a good chance his heart would be broken. He supposed it was a chance he had to take. It was his turn to do the wooing, and being inexperienced, he wasn't sure how well he was doing. The only thing that gave him hope was the fact that Sam hadn’t seemed to fun too far off. He was sticking around, watching. At least for now.

Climbing back up into the tree house, Dean made his bed, then lay on his stomach, flipping through a book. He couldn't keep his mind on his reading though, and he kept looking out, at the tree lines. Sam was out there, somewhere. Would he visit again?

*

Sam watched Dean place the basket at the base of the tree and then go back inside. He waited, wanting to be certain that he wouldn’t run into the man again when he went to fetch the basket. He had hoped that Dean would fall asleep, however, it seemed that Dean was intent on remaining awake tonight with one of his books. 

Tentatively, Sam snuck toward the tree house, keeping a wary eye out for any movement from above. Without bothering to check the contents of the basket, Sam snatched tit up and scurried back into the jungle thicket. 

He found a place to sit with Cheeta and they began to rummage through the contents. He tossed her and Tantor the fruit as it didn't excite him very much, though he gave the colorful food a try. This time, he made sure to remove the outer shell and found himself making the same sounds that Dean had made earlier as he'd eaten some. 

He laughed and shook his head when Cheeta pried his mouth open and attempted to steal some of the bright red and orange chewy sweet confections. The fig newtons, he sniffed and then gave to the elephant, snickering as the animal made a mess of the crumbly things. Cheeta tried to steal those as well, but it was much more difficult to try that on an animal that weighed ten tons. 

Sam reached for the paper that was rolled up and pulled the bright red ribbon off, passing it to Cheeta to play with, and carefully unrolled the parchment. His eyes roamed over the drawing inside, at first seeing only Dean and the contented look on his face, the love and adoration in his smile. His gaze rose curiously to see who it was standing behind Dean, noticing they had their arms around him. 

He felt as though he'd just had the air knocked from his lungs, his chest hurt and anger shot through him, worse than it had the day Dean had left him. He didn't know who the person, the man behind Dean was, but he didn't like it. And he didn't understand why Dean was showing this to him. Was this his way of saying goodbye again? Showing him that Dean no longer loved Sam? Tears stung his eyes and he blinked them away as he clenched his teeth, his hand curling into a fist, crumpling the paper the way Dean had his heart. 

Sam pulled to his feet, the paper clenched tightly in his fist as he marched through the shrubs to the tree house and climbed up onto the platform. He stormed wordlessly over to where Dean now sat gazing into the fire, reached down and hauled him up to his feet with one hand. Despite his tears, or maybe due to them, he punched Dean as hard as he could in the face, dropping him afterward. 

He threw the crumpled drawing of Dean and the stranger down at Dean, watching it bounce of Dean’s chest. Scowling hatefully down at the man, "Deean _leave_ ," he sneered. Turning, he walked to the edge of the platform and stifling a sob of heartache, he grabbed a vine, ready to swing away into the night.

Dean crumpled to the floor just like the paper laying next to him. He brought his hand to his face, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth, and groaning at the pulsing ache in his jaw and in his head. "You hit me," he said, whispering very low and tearing up in disbelief. "You _hit_ me." 

Pushing himself up to a sitting position, Dean looked at Sam who was ready to take flight. "You could have told me to get out. To leave. You didn't have to..." He touched his jaw again, still unable to believe his protector had struck him. 

"You want me to go, I'll go," he said dejectedly, finally looking at Sam. The tears in Sam's eyes didn't make sense, but Dean was too hurt and too angry to try to make sense of it.

Sam's chest heaved as he fought not to cry out with his heartache, he clenched his teeth as tears streamed down from his eyes and he drew in a shaky breath as he nodded. "G-good," he agreed hoarsely, "go."

"Can I stay until tomorrow? Until morning?" Dean asked meekly, reaching for the drawing he'd spent hours on. Uncrumpling it, and looking down at the depiction of how good they'd once been together, he just barely held back a sob. "Hi Cheetah," he forced a smile as the chimp rolled into the tree house.

"Sam no car..." Sam started only to stop on a choked hiccupped breath, tears burning his throat. He squeezed his eyes closed, struggling to blot out the image of Dean with the man that he'd seen, and that Dean had cruelly sent to him. He opened his eyes and hung his head, hands tightening around the vine, knuckles turning white. "Why?" He breathed softly, voice trembling.

"Why what?" Dean slowly stood up and started walking toward Sam. "Why do I want to stay? Because I need to pack a few things, you can have the rest," he said, a hard, aching lump, forming in his throat. 

He'd expected Sam to jump off into the night, but he just stood there, letting him get close. Close enough to feel the heat of his body as they stood facing each other. 

Sam scoffed and lifted his gaze heavenward before lowering it to Dean and shaking his head. He should have known that someone as heartless as Dean would assume he'd been asking him why he wanted to remain until morning. 

"Sam no want Deean's _things_ ," he replied with a sniffle. "Sam not have nice things, me not have fancy clothes or decorations for face," he jutted his chin toward Dean's glasses. “I no have guns or things for trade, but Sam gave all Sam had and you...." he quickly pressed his lips together, tears gathering in his eyes anew. "You meet him home now, or he why you leave Sam?" He inquired stonily.

Dean was about ready to give up, to just climb down and trudge through the jungle and hope to make it to the village, or straight to the port. He was no gold digger. If he had been, then his home life back in America would have been nice and comfortable. But he'd chosen Sam, with this tree house and the love he'd shown him, over a potentially lucrative marriage. But the last of what Sam said had Dean stopping.

"Him? _Him_ who?" Following Sam's gaze to the paper he still held tightly pinched between his own fingers, Dean raised the paper up. "I don't underst..." He looked at Sam again. Either he wasn't as good an artist as he'd hoped, or Sam didn't know what he looked like. 

"This is me," he said, pointing at the picture of himself. "And this is _you_. Sam. You. Wait here," he said, passing the paper to Sam, but letting it fall when Sam didn't take it. 

He crossed the room, and then returned with a box. Pulling up the lid, he revealed the mirror that he used so that he could shave properly and groom himself. 

"Look. This is Sam," he said, moving the box in front of Sam. His hands trembled a little, but Dean tried to control them. 

Sam's dejected gaze met Dean's, though he clung to the vine as though it were his savior and the one thing that could help him if this got any worse and he was no longer able to bear it. Slowly he lowered his eyes to the box that Dean coaxed him to into. 

His eyes widened and a startled cry tore from his lips as he saw his own image reflected back at him. He didn't understand what it was, however. He released the vine and protectively swatted the box out of Dean's hand, watching as it fell onto the floor. Letting go of the vine completely and stepping further into the main area of the tree house, Sam lifted his foot, intending to stomp on the box. He had no idea how it was that the person in the picture with Dean, that seemed to be taller than Dean, could fit into that small box. But now that he was here, Sam was prepared to fight him to the death, if that was what had to do to prove who was the alpha ape and to whom Dean belonged to.

"Stop!" Dean dove for the box, protecting it. "You know, you really do act like a great big ape sometimes." Holding the box in his arm, he stood up. "Cheetah, come here. Come on," he rolled his eyes as the loyal little chimp clung to Sam's leg. 

"Come, you look," he said, letting out a breath of relief when the chimp finally came over. Opening the lid of the box again, he showed the chimp the mirror, making sure to hold it so that Sam could see what was reflected. 

"Cheetah," he said, pointedly. Then Dean moved the mirror, turning so that his own reflection would be visible to Sam. "Dean," he said. Then, he slowly turned around, took a wary step toward Sam, and showed Sam his reflection again. "Sam," he said with finality. "Sam is Dean’s, or at least you used to be."

Sam eyed Dean and tentatively took a step toward the box, his gaze darting between it and Dean. His brows knitted as he thought about everything that he was being shown and tried to make sense of it. He darted away a moment, hurrying over and grabbing the crumpled paper and bringing it back.

"Deean's Sam?" He inquired as he handed Dean the drawing. "No Deean-man, Deean-Sam?" Sam reiterated, brow creased thoughtfully.

"You got a brother?" Dean told himself he had to shake this habit of joking at inopportune times. "Yes. That's Sam. Dean and Sam." Dean stepped away, went to the little table he'd put next to the bed, and pulled out one of his drawing journals. He returned to Sam's side, held the journal protectively close, wanting to make sure Sam didn't destroy it, the way he had his drawing. "Sam and Dean, Sam and Dean, Sam, Sam, Sam and Cheetah, Sam and Dean," he said, flipping through the pages, letting Sam glimpse the drawings, but pulling the book away when Sam would have reached for it. 

Sam's brow furrowed, his heart thundering excitedly in his chest. He slowly lowered the arm he’d reached out to take the book that was filled with pictures of him. His gaze darted between the book and Dean, only to settle on Dean, his eyes searching his love's.

He started to step toward Dean, only to stop himself and swallow hard, "Why?" He murmured.

"Why what?" Dean took a slow step back. "Why did I come back? Why do I draw you? Think about you always? Why the flowers, and the candy?" He pointed at some flowers and the box of candy. "I told you. I love you. I couldn't keep away. I want to stay." 

Sam advanced on Dean, taking two steps forward for every one step Dean took away from him. His gaze moved over Dean as he caught his bottom lip between his teeth and then he was rushing forward toward Dean, wrapping his arms around the man and pulling him into his arms. He dipped his head, burying his face against the side of Dean's neck, warm breaths fanning against the sensitive tender skin. 

"Sam love Deean," he whispered. "Deean Sam's. Deean stay, Deean stay always," he murmured hoarsely. 

The journal dropped from Dean's hand. He wrapped his arms around Sam's waist, closing his eyes as he was enveloped by Sam’s warmth. He'd imagined this so often, being back where he belonged, and it had been denied to him for so long. "Yes. I'm staying with Sam, forever," he said a little shakily, "always."

Sam slowly lifted his head with a sniffle, his hazel green eyes wet with unshed tears. He pulled an arm from around Dean's body and lifted it, watching as his thumb brushed lightly along the cut in his lover's lip. His eyes lifted meeting Dean's as he shook his head apologetically. "Sam never..." he sighed softly, "Sam so sorry," he muttered dejectedly. 

Seeing the deep regret in Sam's eyes, Dean knew that they didn't need to talk about it. That it would never happen again. He gave a nod and a brief smile. 

Pulling his hand away, Sam wrapped his arm around Dean's body. He shifted his hold on his lover and, in the next moment, lifted Dean into his arms, cradling him like a bride crossing the threshold as he carried Dean over to their bed and gently placed him down on the sheet covered makeshift mattress. Kneeling beside his love, he leaned forward, bracing his hands against the bed on either side of Dean's body. He dipped his head and gently kissed his lover's lips, tongue darting out and licking tenderly across Dean's lips and into his mouth, careful not to cause Dean’s mouth to bleed again. 

Dean gave a soft moan as he accepted Sam's tongue into his mouth and put his arms around Sam's neck, playing with the hair at his nape. He'd been waiting, dreaming of this for so long. The moment was finally here and he could scarcely believe it. "You taste like candy," he said against Sam's mouth, smiling a little, and dragging him down for a deeper kiss.

"Mmmm," Sam started to moan only to grunt in alarm, worried about hurting Dean by deepening the kiss. He pulled his head back and shook his head. 

"No," he murmured and shifted his weight, fingertips dancing delicately over Dean's lip, "Care-ful," he muttered in broken English. He cupped the side of Dean's face, thumb brushing against his lover's cheek and across the freckles dotting along the bridge of his nose and along his cheek bones. He dipped his head and kissed along the trail and down along his jaw line and lower down his lover's throat, tongue swirling around his Adam's apple. 

"Missed Deean so much...love Deean so much..." he mumbled between the nips and open mouthed kisses that he peppered along his mate’s throat. 

"Don't wanna be careful. Missed you," Dean mumbled, his eyes drifting closed. He arched his neck, giving Sam more access, sucking in his breath when he felt Sam's tongue licking over his pulse point. He started to run his hands over Sam's shoulders, feeling his powerful muscles rippling under his palms. He'd forgotten how broad Sam's shoulders were, how smooth his sun kissed skin felt. He explored Sam's sides, loving the contrast between his broad shoulders and his narrow waist. The buttery softness of Sam's loincloth had Dean opening his eyes again. 

Slowly. Deliberately, Dean moved his hands lower, over Sam’s ass, sliding them up and down until he worked the loose part of the loin cloth up and he was caressing and squeezing Sam's bare cheeks. "Dreamed of you, of this," he said huskily, shifting his leg, raising his knee a little and biting his lip when he felt Sam's arousal press against his thigh. "Don't care what anyone else says, what they think. This is right. You're right, for me," he whispered, giving Sam more pressure and feeling his own gut clench at the way Sam hardened against his thigh.

Sam slowly lifted his head, his passion glazed eyes meeting Dean's and searching their depths adoringly. He didn't understand what Dean was talking about, saying he didn't care what others said, what they thought. Why would anyone speak against their love? He had never heard or seen such things before between the animals of the jungle. He did however understand the last of Dean's words, understood that this was right, that they were right for each other. "Deean Sam's," he responded softly. 

Pulling his hand away from the side of Dean's face, Sam reached for the fastenings of Dean’s shirt, tugging gently at the buttons. His gaze lowered to his hand then lifted again to Dean's eyes as he began to slowly unfasten each tiny button. 

Looking into the intensity of Sam's eyes, Dean felt his heart tumble. He waited as Sam undid his shirt, remembering their last night together. This wasn't a _last_ anything, Dean told himself. This was the first day of their _forever._

Once Sam lifted his shirt and helped him out of it, Dean grinned and pushed, rolling them over so he was on top, straddling Sam’s hips and looking down, his gaze traveling over every inch of the man he'd missed so damned much. "Sam Dean's," he proclaimed, grinning at Sam's startled look and leaning down, kissing him and ignoring Sam’s efforts to keep the kiss light. He wasn't badly injured and he wanted Sam to know that.

When Dean sat back up, he caressed Sam's face, using his thumb to tug one corner of his mouth up, then lowering his own mouth over Sam's again, he kissed him. This time he pushed his tongue into the heat of Sam's mouth, tangling their tongues together. Feeling the press of Sam's hard cock under him, he rocked back and forth against it, practically vibrating with pleasure. 

Sam moaned, his hips cantering up against Dean as his mate moved against him. He smoothed his hands over Dean's chest, fingertips teasing at his nipples while they kissed. He rose into a sitting position with Dean on his lap, the movement tearing their lips apart. 

Sam dipped his head, capturing one flat male nipple between his lips, sucking it softly and swirling his tongue around the hardening bud, teasing it. Tilting the angle of his head, he changed sides, licking Dean’s nipple, while fingering and toying with Dean’s other nipple, rolling it between his fingers. 

"Oh God..." Holding onto Sam, Dean leaned back, watching Sam through heavy lidded eyes, shudders of pleasure rippling through him each time Sam pressed his mouth over his nipple, or touched him. Each time Sam leaned closer to him, hot gusts of panted air skimmed over Dean's now very sensitized skin. 

His hand slid down, over Sam's shoulders, to his biceps, his fingers biting into Sam's flesh when he felt Sam suck on his nipple again. He raked his fingers down Sam's muscled chest, splaying his fingers wide when he reached his rock hard abs. Gripping Sam’s hips, Dean pulled himself closer to Sam and rocked restlessly against him, soft sounds of pleasure spilling from his lips. 

Sam's hips cantered up against Dean's while he continued to tease at his lover's nipples another few moments before lifting his head, his eyes heavy-lidded as he gazed with desire into his mate's eyes. His hands slid down Dean's body to the fastenings of his mate’s breeches, tugging at the fastening. "Off," he grunted huskily.

"Still don't like my clothes?" Dean asked, raising up onto his knees and started to unfasten his pants, knocking Sam's fumbling hand away in the process. Once he had his trousers open, he pushed them slightly down his hips, then leaned in, cupping the back of Sam's head with both his hands and sighing when he felt Sam's wet lips press against his stomach. Heat curled low in his belly and his head started to spin.

Bracing Dean’s back, Sam pressed soft open-mouthed kisses across Dean’s stomach, his warm breath fanning against the tender skin. Suddenly, he straightened and pulled his legs up while twisting his hips, rolling them back over again and sending Dean tumbling over onto the soft bedding. 

On his hands and knees, Sam braced himself above his mate, his gaze searching Dean's features a moment before he crawled backward down his mate's body, knee shifting between Dean's legs and spreading them wide. Kneeling between his lover's legs he leaned down, dipped his head down and licked up the underside of his mate's cock with the flat of his tongue.

"Sam!" Reaching out, Dean grabbed Sam's shoulder, his hips undulating, lifting up in hopes of more. The long wet strokes of Sam's tongue made his cock swell and harden and ache. "More. More, please," he pleaded, his other hand fisting in Sam's silky soft hair, tugging until he got what he was asking for. "G... good," he murmured, moving his head from side to side. 

Sam watched Dean from under his brows as he sucked softly along his cock. Seeing that his mate was enjoying what he was doing, he allowed his eyes to slip closed and he hummed softly in contentment. His ran his mouth slowly up and down the length of his mate's shaft, sucking him and flicking the tip of his tongue against his cock. Recalling the way Dean had touched him, Sam hesitated, then wrapped his fingers around his lover's cock, stroking along his length, his fist chasing after his mouth. 

Head tilted back, lips parted, Dean panted and moaned, thrusting into Sam's mouth, his eyes squeezing shut each time the throbbing heat in his groin intensified. "Mmm, yeah... Sam..." He wouldn't release his grip on Sam's hair, hanging on, tugging on it as if his life depended on it. "So sweet... so hot," he started to writhe, started to get so wound up, he thought he would come. 

Wanting to wait, to come with Sam inside him, he clenched his knees on either side of Sam's body and tugged his head up by his hair, groaning at the sudden loss of pressure around his dick. "Lemme do this to you. Clothes off, I'll suck you. Then you can take me," he whispered, his eyes bright with lust. 

Sam lifted his head, breaths panting softly out from between reddened, swollen lips. He moved forward, repositioning his arm so that his hand was next to Dean's head as he leaned down over his mate and dipped his head, licking a trail of heat up the center of Dean's chest and throat before shifting and slanting his mouth over his lover's with a softly grunted groan. He slowly lowered as they kissed, blanketing Dean's body. He slid his free hand upward along his mate's body and back down before slipping in between them, cupping Dean's balls within his palm and gently squeezing and tugging. 

Dean couldn't help thrusting his hips and groaning out his pleasure. "Not gonna..." the rest of his complaint was muffled by the press of Sam's mouth against his. Heat flared between them. Dean kissed Sam back with all of the passion that had been pent up over the past year, rubbing up against Sam, his need ratcheting. "Not gonna last, like this," he finally managed, raising his head and nipping Sam's lower lip, before pushing him up. 

Sliding his hand between their bodies, Dean tugged at Sam's loin cloth, then unwound it. "Lemme see," he demanded, blowing a hot breath across Sam's chest as he tried to get a look at his cock hidden between their bodies.

Sam lifted up onto his knees briefly before lowering again and hooking one arm under Dean's knee. Hiking his lover's leg up, he tucked it around his waist as he rolled his hips, his bare dick sliding against his mate's. A low wanton moan tumbled from deep in his throat as he reached up and raked his fingertips through Dean's short hair, cupping his face. He dipped his head and captured his lover's mouth, kissing him hungrily and holding his head in place by gently cupping his cheek. He moved his other hand, blindly seeking until he captured Dean’s hand and kept thrusting against Dean, as though he were already inside his mate. 

"Deean stay," he whispered between one kiss and the next. 

He'd wanted to pleasure Sam with his mouth, but now, it was impossible. Dean found himself covered by Sam's body, held, manhandled, and controlled, but safe. 

Feeling Sam's hard cock moving over him, knowing he'd be inside him soon, Dean gave as good as he got, thrusting back against Sam, moaning. "Yes... stay... don't have to ask me. Gonna stay, promise," he kept assuring Sam each time their lips parted, "you never have to ask again. Love you, stay with you," Dean whispered, squeezing Sam's hand as he started to jerk against him, needing him inside. 

"Fuck me," Dean whispered, feeling heat creep up his face at his bold request.

Sam lifted his head and gazed at his lover through passion glazed eyes, his pupils lust blown and face softly flushed. He gave a nod. He kissed Dean tenderly before forcing himself to pull away and sit up, kneeling between his love's spread legs. Reaching down with one hand, he wrapped it around his own dick and began to stroke himself, smearing the precome that oozed from the tip of his cock along his length while keeping his gaze locked with Dean's.

Dean watched as if in a trance, burning under the heat of Sam's gaze. His wild man had no idea how beautiful he was, how perfect. He ran his hands up and down Sam's arm, touching him, hardly able to wait until they were joined. The memory of their last time was a fading fantasy and he wanted, more than anything, another taste, he wanted to regain what he'd lost, what he'd foolishly given up to abide by the rules of his society. _This_ was his society now, his family, and they'd make their own rules. "Love me," he whispered hoarsely, pulling on Sam. "Want you to love me now. Right now." 

His hand still gripping his cock, Sam leaned forward over his lover. He captured Dean's lips with his own as he aligned his dick with the puckered skin of his mate's hole and carefully pushed inside past the first ring of muscle. Moans and deep throaty grunted groans tumbled from Sam’s throat as he deepened the kiss, nearly devouring Dean's mouth in an attempt to distract him from the pain when he pushed his cock in further, past the second ring of muscle. He reached up, cupping the side of Dean's jaw with one hand and reaching for Dean’s hand with the other, holding it tight. 

It had been a long time since he'd last had Sam inside him and the sudden invasion was blindingly painful but Dean was glad it was quick. Now Sam was deep inside him, still stretching him, but the hard part was over. The pain would ease away, and Sam would help him get used to having him inside, would take his mind of it, like he was doing now, by kissing him and touching him so sweetly. 

Fingers threaded with Sam's, Dean pressed his palm against Sam's, concentrating on the pressure, focusing on it. He moved his lips against Sam's, "Tell me you love me," he said, shifting a little, a soft sound breaking from the back of his throat as Sam's cock seemed to move deeper inside him, filling him up.

"Sam love Deean," Sam responded huskily. "Sam love Deean always," he rasped softly, his lips brushing against Dean's as he spoke. 

Sam slowly moved his hips, pulling partly back and thrusting in deeper. Moving his hips ever so slowly, making it a point to go easy, to be gentle. He leaned in, closing the short distance and crushed his lips against Dean's, kissing him languidly, mapping out his mouth, exploring every corner while he continued to slowly ease his hips back and forth. 

At first, Dean gripped Sam's arm, afraid he would move too fast, that it would be too much. The burning was still there and the possibility of sharp pain had Dean tense and wary. But little by little, Sam disarmed him. Eased his fears by rocking against him slowly, pulsing and stopping every once, kissing him and making his mind spin with the way he touched him. 

Releasing his death grip, Dean started to caress Sam's back, even sliding his hand down to his ass, molding him closer. The pain eased completely after a while, replaced by pulsing pleasure that made Dean want more. He started to buck up against Sam, squeezing his ass, silently telling him it was okay, that he could take it now. 

Sam had been raining kisses against his lover's face and neck, his lips and across his collarbone, but now he pulled his head back. His breaths panted out softly from between parted lips as he gazed down into his mate's face, his eyes filled with his love and desire for Dean. Slowly he began to thrust harder, faster, picking up the rhythm. He dipped his head and nipped at Dean's bottom lip before kissing him messily, needily, ravishing his lover's mouth.

Letting go of Sam's hand, Dean wrapped his arms around Sam's shoulders and raising his legs, locking his ankles behind Sam's back. Using his legs to push and pull Sam, he kissed him back. Sometimes their lips missed, sometimes they fit perfectly, clinging to each other the same way Dean clung to Sam as Sam pistoned in and out of him, rocking his entire world each time his cock nudged up against his prostate. 

Once, Dean might have restrained himself. But now, Dean opened himself up, let Sam feel and hear his pleasure, let him know how just how crazy he was for Sam. He tried to give back, tried to squeeze his inner muscles around Sam's thick hard length, timing it to increase the pressure on Sam's cock each time he pulled half way out. "Nghh... Sam," he gripped Sam tight, moving against him almost wildly, rubbing his trapped cock against Sam's hard stomach, inching closer to release.

Sam gasped and grunted, groans tumbled from his lips each time Dean's muscles contracted around his dick. Heat shot through his veins to pool low and heavy in his gut making his cock pulse within the tight confines of his mate’s body. He dipped his head and nuzzled against Dean's neck, raining open mouthed kisses along Dean’s his sensitive skin and up to his ear. His hot panted breaths fanned against Dean’s delicate flesh before his tongue darted out to lick around the shell of his ear.

Sam never stopped moving. With each purposeful, deep thrust, he brought his mate pleasure. His eyes squeezed closed on a low guttural groan and his fingertips dug into Dean's skin as his dick pulsed and twitched, heat pooling thick and heavy. Soon, the movement of his hips became erratic as pleasured grunts and moans tumbled from his lips and he clung to Dean tighter, so tightly that Dean was barely able to move. His face remained buried against his lover's neck as deeper, louder pleasured sounds fell from his lips, muffled against Dean's flesh. His body trembled, muscles locking as he strained against his mate. 

Low, desperate sounds flew from Dean's lips as he thrashed under Sam, locked to his body in a way that prevented any gap between them. Sam's quickening thrusts and grunts robbed Dean of coherence, tugging him deeper into a web of need, and lust, desire and love. The heat curling low in his stomach intensified, sweeping through him like an unstoppable tidal wave. Giving a choked cry and clutching at Sam, Dean's stiffened suddenly, his eyes squeezing shut as he went over the edge, coming hard, so hard it almost hurt.

Sam's head jerked up. He blinked his blurred vision away and watched his mate come, took in the blissed-out look on his face, how his skin was flushed and the way his chest heaved with his deeply panted breaths. The sight and feel of his mate in his arms like that had Sam's balls drawing up painfully tight to his body. His head lulled back and his mouth fell slack as his eyes squeezed tightly closed once more. One more deep thrust, and he started to come, filling Dean's ass to overflowing. His orgasm went on and on, until Sam was uncertain if it was ever going to stop. 

Dean continued to move against Sam, clenching around his cock, milking him, holding him tight. He felt boneless, every one of his limbs tired and heavy. 

Once they both stopped moving, and the shudders of pleasure receded, Dean finally let go of Sam and dropped his arms flat on the bedding, his breath rushing out as Sam collapsed heavily over him. Dean dragged his hands up Sam's sweat slicked back, kissing him lightly as he tried to catch his breath. 

As soon as he knew the haze of lust had lifted and he had Sam's attention, Dean spoke. "Tell me the truth. You been practicing with someone not Dean," he asked, mock sternly, a smile ready to form at the corners of his lips.

Sam's brow creased weakly as he gazed down at Dean before he shook his head and lowered it to the bedding next to his mate. "Only Deean," he rasped softly. 

His hand slid up Dean's stomach and reached for Dean's, watching as he threaded their fingers together. He yawned and turned his head, inching his nose against the mattress, but unwilling to release his love. He fought against the sleep that wanted to pull him down, despite how many times his eyes started to close, Sam fought to keep them open, to watch Dean, keep an eye on him, and not let him out of his sight. 

"Only Dean. It's what I like to hear," Dean smiled, opening his eyes only to find he was being watched. "Love you," he whispered, squeezing Sam's hand. 

"Sam love Deean," Sam murmured and snuggled closer, his thumb brushing across the pulse point in Dean's wrist.

Dean tried to push Sam partially off as he reached for the soft sheets he'd brought from home, and raised his brow when Sam wouldn't budge. "Lemme get the sheets, roll over," he said, trying again to push Sam over.

Sam's expression became defiant and he clung tighter to Dean if that were possible, "No," he commanded softly. "Dean stay."

"Sam, I'm staying. Sam," he let out a breath. "I'm staying with you for always. I promise," he said. "Please. Let me up," he said firmly, but looking at Sam with all the love he felt for him. 

Sam turned his head and looked back over his shoulder at the area behind them, his brow knitting as he tried to understand what it was Dean wanted to get up for. He turned his head back, his attention once more on Dean's face, eyes searching his mate's before he slowly shook his head.

"Deean stay," he repeated and dipped his head, kissing along the side of Dean's neck in an attempt to distract his mate.

"Mmm... yeah," Dean let Sam make his way up to his mouth, and kissed him back, cupping his cheek, stroking it tenderly. 

 

When they stopped to take a breath, Dean pushed again, this time rolling them over, though he was still trapped in Sam's embrace. "Sam stay," he said, reaching behind him and tugging Sam's hands off his back. He could see the panic enter Sam's eyes and he shook his head. "Shshsh... I'm right here." 

Very quickly, he got up and brought back a jug of water and two cups, putting them down next to the bedding. Then he started to clean himself up with a wet rag, always staying close to Sam, showing him he wasn't going anywhere. Wetting another cloth, he dropped down onto his knees next to Sam and started wiping away at his stomach. "Wasn't very comfortable when we woke up the last time after we..." he said, smiling a little. 

Settling back down next to Sam, he pulled the silky sheet over them, up to their waists. Then he poured water for each of them and motioned for Sam to sit up if he wanted some. "I worked up a thirst," he explained. 

The entire time Dean had moved around the room, Sam had been tense and on the verge of pouncing out of the bed, ready to go after his mate and bring him back if he had to. When Dean finally returned to the bed, Sam's arm slipped in around his lover's hips, holding him securely in place and ignoring his offer of water. He lay watching Dean drink, while his other hand teased his lover's flesh, fingertips brushing up and down against Dean's stomach and chest while he kept a tight grip on him with his other hand. 

Giving up for now, Dean set the cup down, and moved into Sam's arms, resting his head on Sam's chest and listening to his heart beats. "I'm not going anywhere. I'll prove it to you, day after day. For as long as it takes, until you understand," he said, drawing circles on Sam's chest with his index finger. "G'nite Sammy," he said, dropping a kiss on his chest, then closing his eyes. "Sleep now." 

Sam's arms wrapped around Dean as his lover moved against him, laying his head on Sam's chest. He tilted his hand down, watching as his mate closed his eyes. He listened to his breaths as they evened out and grew deeper, and still, he fought his own body's need for rest, unwilling to sleep... afraid of awakening to find Dean gone. Instead, he sighed softly and tightened his arms securely around his sleeping mate, and stared out into the darkness of the jungle.

* * *

When Dean woke, he found that Sam's arms were still wrapped around him. Very carefully, he managed to wiggle out of his arms and got out of bed. While he got dressed, pulling on only his pants but remaining shirtless, he stole glances at his wild man, looking so peaceful and innocent in sleep. He wanted to give him a kiss, but he was afraid that would wake Sam. A part of him knew that Sam stayed up late.

Leaving the tree house, he took care of business and went to the lagoon. He'd positions some stones to create a wall in the water, a small area where he kept some fruits. The water would make the fruit nice and cool, which he found refreshing, especially in the heat he expected later in the day. Reaching into the water, he grabbed a large papaya. 

Whistling happily, he started to climb back up to their tree house. He'd scare up some breakfast, and then maybe talk Sam into teaching him some more about traveling around using the vines. 

*

Sam rolled onto his side, his arm stretching out, reaching blindly for Dean, softly grumbled incoherent words tumbling from his lips. When he wasn't able to find his mate there beside him, he jerked awake, eyes popping open and his head abruptly lifting. His neck pivoted as he searched out of sleep-blurry eyes for his mate, his heart hammering out a panicked rhythm in his chest. 

He rolled back over and sprang up into a sitting position just as the sound of whistling caught his attention and had him turning his attention toward the entrance. His eyes widened and he quickly swung his legs out of the bed, pushing himself to his feet as Dean climbed up. 

"Morning, tall, dark and... naked," Dean enjoyed the view but, flushing brightly, pulled his gaze away. He raised the papaya up. "Breakfast."

Sam's gaze roamed over Dean before he took a step closer and peered over the side of the platform. Returning his attention to Dean, he wrapped an arm around his mate's waist, ignoring the offer of fruit and pulling his love up against his body. "Deean stay," he grunted as his free hand tugged at the fastenings of Dean's clothes.

"Sam kiss," Dean countered, slanting his mouth over Sam's and staying his hand. "Just kiss or we'll be here all day," he said, tugging Sam's hand away from his pants, but leaning in to kiss him again. "Hungry?"

After his hand was slapped away, Sam slid it upward along Dean’s stomach and chest, cupping the side of Dean's face as he dipped his head again and slanted his mouth over his mate's, kissing him possessively. A low moan tumbled from his throat as his head tilted from side to side, their mouths moving together, tongues sliding against one another’s. His other hand fisted in the material of his lover's breeches, holding fast onto him. 

Fruit in hand, Dean wound his arms around Sam's neck and kissed Sam back, tangling his tongue with Sam's. While Sam hung onto him and kissed him intensely, Dean tried to lighten up the kiss, playfully darting his tongue around in a game of cat and mouse. He went so far as to give a low laugh right as he pulled slightly away. "Now that's a good morning."

Sam searched Dean's features, though he refused to release him and continued to simply gaze into his eyes as he clung tightly to his mate. 

"Sam." Dean rolled his eyes. "We can't stand like this all day. I want to go swinging," he said, "on the vines." When Sam didn't make a move, he pantomimed what he wanted, put his hand by his mouth and gave a Godawful, "ahhhaiii aiiiii." 

Sam's eyes widened and he pulled his head back, brow creased and nostrils flared in incredulous confusion as to what the sound was that had just come from between his beloved's lips. 

"Deean pain?" He inquired, his eyes searching over Dean's face and down along his body. 

"What? No." Slightly annoyed, Dean shoved at Sam, pulling free of him and getting to the edge of the platform. He unsecured the vine, then pantomimed again, giving Sam's call. "You know, swing, play, aiiii aaiiii..."

This time Sam grinned wide and fought not to laugh as he watched his lover. He lifted his brows and tilted his head slightly to one side before pressing his lips together with a soft snicker and a shake of his head.

"Deean no good at animal call. Give animals..." Sam paused and tried to think of the word, "aches," he finished. He nodded however, and reached for the vine with one hand while wrapping his other arm around Dean. In the next second, the two of them were swinging through the trees.

"I'll give you aches!" Dean threatened, half shouting as he was lifted off the platform and catapulted forward with Sam's strong arm securely around him. "Aaaiii ahh-- Mph!" It didn't take much to get Sam's hand slapped over his mouth, muffling his attempted animal cries.

* * * 

[Three Days Later]

Sam stood laughing at the antics of the gorillas he was about to leave behind. He’d spent most of the day in the thick of the jungle, doing the things that he had normally done before Dean had left him and broken his heart.

_Dean..._

He had to admit that he still worried that he would come home one day to find the tree house empty and with no signs that Dean had ever existed in his life. He wasn't completely certain what he would do if that day came, but he tried not to dwell on it. He tried to simply make the most of the time that he was given with Dean. 

Still, sometimes, when he gazed at Dean, he got the feeling that his mate was almost reading his mind, that he could tell what he was feeling, thinking, and worrying himself over. Turning away from the group of gorillas he jogged toward a cluster of trees and reached for a high vine, then swung away from the family of gorillas.

"Aaaaahhhhhaaaaaahhhhhhhaaaaahhhhhh!!!" Sam's call traveled through the jungle, echoing throughout the land.

When he reached the tree house, he noted the white sheet that was hung inside and his brow knitted in confusion at the strange looking contraption that sat nearby. He was unsure what Dean had brought in from the village now, but whatever this thing was supposed to be, it was not attractive. He shook his head as he stepped inside, searching the area for his mate.

"Right here," Dean said, nestled among the cushions. "C'mere," he patted the place next to him, grinning at the strange look on Sam's face. "I got the generator working, and now I can show you some things that ... well, I think you'll enjoy tonight," he said.

Sam's attention turned to Dean and his lips curved into a smile upon seeing him before his brow creased curiously, "More books?" He inquired.

He crossed the distance between himself and Dean, lowering himself down onto the cushion next to Dean. He reached for his mate and pulled his lover half into his lap as he slanted his mouth over Dean's, kissing him as though he hadn't seen him in weeks instead of mere hours.

Wrapping his arms around Sam, Dean kissed him back, echoing Sam's enthusiasm. He'd taken to going shirtless, and he loved feeling Sam's chest rub against his own as their tongues tangled. They stayed like that, kissing and touching, and murmuring soft words for a while. When he finally broke the kiss, he was sure his mouth was red and swollen and that he'd never get tired of this.

"I took a nice swim earlier. With soap. You missed it," he teased, knowing how fascinated Sam was with soap suds.

Sam grunted as he frowned at having missed seeing his mate wet and naked and covered in bubbles, "Sam wrestled with gorilla... you missed it," he replied.

Dean laughed. "Sam strong," he ran his hands over Sam's arm, "who won?"

Sam shook his head, a wide smile curling his lips and making his dimples show, "No win," he responded. "Only..." his brow creased thoughtfully as he tried to think of the right word, "play. Deean get all clean?" He inquired huskily as he ran a hand down his mate's bare chest. 

"Uhuh, all clean. Smell me," he said, leaning over Sam, and throwing his head back and laughing as Sam literally sniffed his throat and moved down his body. He felt goose bumps rise over his skin and his nipples tightened. Quickly, he slipped off Sam's lap and sat next to him. "If you keep that up, I'll be wanting you to love me, and then we'll never see the movie. Damned tempting, though..." he said huskily, eyes locking onto Sam's sexy lips.

"Sam always love Deean," Sam replied huskily, intentionally taking his mate's words incorrectly. His eyes searched Dean's before his gaze dropped to his mate’s mouth. Licking across his own lips, he lifted his eyes to Dean’s. "Deean love Sam before moooove," he rasped gently.

"Dean always loves Sam," Dean answered, loving it when Sam got playful with him. Leaning in, he kissed Sam on the mouth, pulling back before their tongues tangled, then kissed his way down Sam's chest. 

When Dean sat back and noticed that Sam was flushed and his loin cloth tented up a little, he was sufficiently satisfied. " _Now_ we watch a movie. It's pictures, they tell a story," he said. "You listening? Stop looking so damned dreamy or I'm gonna forget about... " he dragged his eyes off Sam and started to sit up.

Sam quickly moved, arm snaking out and grabbing hold of Dean's wrist, pulling him back down. He rolled half onto Dean as he slanted his mouth over his mate's with a low growl, kissing him possessively. His tongue swept inside his lover's mouth and flicked teasingly against Dean's palate. One of his hands slipped down between them, cupping his mate's dick through his breeches and squeezing gently.

The air knocked out of him, sheer pleasure coursing through him, Dean feverishly kissed Sam back. "Alright... you win... love first... movie later," he muttered between kisses, helping Sam to unfasten his pants.

* 

Their physical needs having been met, they sat in the cushions with a thin sheet pulled over them. Dean had spiked their juices with some spirits and he'd started the movie projector going. He'd spliced some pictures of his family and home town and some pictures dealing with Sam in the beginning of the reel that made soft hissing noises as the pictures flashed onto the white sheet.

"Baby Sam," Dean said, pointing at the make shift screen. "And your mother, father," he said, knowing Sam would recognize the faces from the picture he owned. Dean had gotten these out of newspaper clippings. "Sam is from England," he said, "that's England." Scenes of London and the English countryside flashed onto the screen. 

Sam's gaze darted between the screen and Dean, his eyes widened with excitement at having seen photos of his mother and father. He turned to Dean and waved a hand toward the projector.

"Back," he instructed, "Make go back," he commanded.

"Ah, that's tricky," Dean said, getting up onto his knees and stopping the projected and rewinding the reel. He had to set it all up again, then he started the movie going again, watching Sam's face as he watched the pictures on the screen. 

"I wrote some letters. This guy named Edgar Rice Boroughs, he's going to try to get me some more pictures of your family," Dean promised.

After the scenes flashed by, Dean pointed again. "That's me, yeah I know you know. Father, mother," he didn't mention Jo, though she was in the picture too. Everyone had been interested in the cameras and projectors he'd bought and what they could do. 

"That's America, where I'm from," he said, smiling a little. He had fond memories, but he didn't miss it. This felt more like home than anywhere else he'd been in the world.

Sam grew quiet as he thought about the pictures that had flashed across the screen and the things that Dean had said, the way he had looked when he had shown him his America. His head hung as he thought about it all, about how those people in the pictures were supposed to be his parents and yet the only parents he knew were right here in the jungle. He slowly shook his head and lifted his almost dejected gaze to Dean. 

"Sam no England. Sam here. Sam mother, father here," he corrected, "Not people on paper." 

"Okay. I didn't mean to upset you," Dean apologized, taking Sam's hand. He searched Sam's face, then he shook his head. "Dean's home is here, with Sam. Always. I'm always going to be right here, with you, with Sam." 

Sam turned toward Dean and gently eased him back onto the cushions, their joined hands sliding up to rest just above Dean's head as Sam rolled part-way onto his mate. He dipped his head and kissed the tender skin at the crook of his lover's neck and shoulder, nuzzling up against him. "Sam want to believe..." he murmured. 

"Sam should believe... ungh... Sam," Dean fought his way free. "Movie, then make more love," he said, this time resolving to be firm. He shifted, so that he was sitting next to Sam again, leaning against his shoulder as the movie started. Course, he had to explain the movie, and he took to doing so, using a high voice to speak in place of the actresses and a low voice in place of the actors. When he was acting as narrator, he used his usual voice.

At first, he knew that he had Sam confused, but as it went on, he thought Sam was catching on. The fun thing about these movies, and he had six precious ones with him, was that he could change the story at will... put whatever words he wanted into the mouths of the actors. It would give them something to do plenty of nights in the future.

When Dean had begun speaking funny, Sam had thought that maybe his mate had sun stroke, caught some horrible disease or been cursed by one of the tribes. After a while, when Dean's voice continued to change back and forth with the changing of the pictures on the screen, Sam started to get the idea of the game that they were playing. His lips twitched upward into a tentative smile, though his gaze continued to flicker back and forth between Dean and the screen as he reached for his lover, pulling Dean into his lap despite his mate's protests. 

"Sam, movie!" Dean said, then quickly made his voice rise in pitch to speak the role of the ‘woman in peril’ on the screen. Settling down on Sam's lap, he continued to voice-act the story, capturing Sam's straying hands. At this rate, they'd be lucky to get through half the movie, he thought, his shoulders shaking with laughter at Sam's persistence. "Sam... Sam!"

Birds flew out of nearby trees. Animals either ran away or moved closer. Monkeys began to chatter away, discussing the strange, new sounds and lights that seemed to be invading their area of the jungle now that the ape man had found his mate.

THE END


End file.
